Dance of the Devils
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Evil comes in many packages as Damien, Son of the Devil, will soon find out on his return to South Park. Will South Park survive the clash or will it wind up as a crater?
1. Sowing Evil

Author's Note: My second entry into the South Park fandom, this time instead of a one-shot a full fledged story. What is it about? Well, you all will just have to sit down and read to find out. Now, I am accepting OCs so if you want to generous donate yours, fill out the form at the bottom but please try to stick with it. There is such a thing as information overload, after all. Anyway, I'm looking at a whole different approach to the amount of OC stories that have been popping up on the site, a new spin on a used plot so to speak. Just know I make no guarantees so reader, and OC owner, beware. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warnings: language, adult themes

Sowing Evil

It was incredibly dark out on this fine night in the middle of Colorado.

That was the thought of the stoic driver as he sped down Highway 34, heading west with his slumbering companion in the passenger seat. The driver's eyes flickered over to observed the sleeping female, slouched in her seat and buckled up. It was only for an instant but there wasn't any fondness in that look.

No, the driver supposed, the girl wasn't willingly unconscious and you could tell by the odd puncture mark in her neck. She was still alive, mind you, just a little bit of tranquilizer to keep her asleep and docile. The driver didn't want any unwanted attention drawn to them, especially with what their intentions were.

Hmm, this seemed like as good a spot as any. They were close by so it wouldn't be too hard to lug their passenger further into the nearby woods and out of sight. And with the darkness of the night surrounding them, any random passerby would be hard pressed to spot the parked car, especially with its black painting. Just to be sure that no one inadvertently hit it, the driver pulled the vehicle further out onto the shoulder of the road and closer to the snow covered ground.

With the twist of the keys, the ignition was shut off and the driver was out of their seat, heading for the trunk to pull out a couple of items and sticking them in their coat. Slamming the trunk closed, the driver then approached the passenger side door and unlocked the door, opening it and leaning in to unbuckle their unconscious companion.

It was a bit of trouble to heft the girl out of the car seeing as how the driver wasn't the type that was used to a lot of physical activity but they managed, using their hip to shut the car down before heading away from the road and deep into the nearby woods.

Maneuvering their hands and arms, the driver adjusted their grip on the sleeping girl and a flashlight that wasn't flicked on until they were safely into the woods. The foliage overhead blocked out any light from the stars or moon, though it wasn't as if you could see them in the first place, and now the driver was in their element. Still a little further to go, though.

The minutes ticked by and the dead weight of the girl was starting to take its toll on them but finally the driver reached where they were heading and unceremoniously dropped the girl onto the ground next to a large pine tree.

Digging into their coat pockets, the driver pulled out a reel of fishing wire, humming a tune softly to their self as they fixed the girl's position up against the tree before proceeding to wrap the fishing wire around both the girl and the tree. They didn't pause as the girl began to moan, the tranq finally beginning to wear off but by now it was too late.

With a smirk forming on thin lips, the driver examined their work, eyeing the restrained girl closely and mentally checking off that the girl's torso and arms were wrapped tightly against the tree trunk. Taking out wire cutters, the driver cut off the fishing wire from the reel and began tying the end to the rest of the wire that wrapped around the barked plant.

By now, the girl was beginning to squirm, showing that she was slowly beginning to emerge from REM sleep. Bad timing, really, the driver reasoned. She was going to wish she stayed unconscious for what was going to happen to her…

Putting the rest of the fishing wire and the wire cutters away, the driver dug into their other pocket, pulling out an aerosol can and shaking it lightly as they stood back in front of the girl. Taking note of the wind, the driver placed their self just so before kneeling down close to the earth again. Keeping the spraying can close to the ground, the driver began to spray an oddly smelling mist onto the snow covered earth, moving the can in zig-zagging patterns and coating both the girl and tree, as well as the surrounding area, with the spray.

And now for the coup de grace; the driver pulled out a large, metal clad knife and moved in on the girl. Handling the blade expertly, they drug the knife blade against the girl's skin, blood seeping out of the shallow wound. The driver did this a few more times on different points of her body before wiping the blood on the knife on her clothes and pulling away, satisfied with their work.

The driver waited for a few more moments, as if waiting for something and during this time, the girl regained consciousness. However, it seemed some tranq was still in her system as she seemed to have problems using her voice to speak. The driver's smirk merely widened at this, not interested in any pleas for mercy the girl might make.

And then there was an ominous howl that cut through the dark silence and the driver's smirk was a full out evil grin. There was movement that could be heard heading towards them, signaling that the local predatory wildlife was checking out what the strange smell in the air was.

With a dark chuckle, the driver finally spoke to the girl, saying in a hoarse voice, "Take care." Not noticing how the girl's eyes seemed to glow as she struggled futilely against her bindings, the driver turned around and left, heading back to the car.

The driver hadn't even exited the woods when a triumphant howl could be heard and they knew that they had claimed another victim.

---

Hell was not the most friendly of places, what with the fire and brimstone in the air and all but it wasn't as horrible as everybody on Earth made it out to be. Of course, you had to spend some time here in the rugged, volcanic, charcoal-colored landscape first or visit regularly like a certain McCormick kid did in order to think like that.

For Damien, the hellish glow and smoky atmosphere was nothing new and something that he no longer paid attention to. The heat didn't bother him and he was immune to those that were actually suffering in this place. But what stuck out most about this place was that he found it incredibly boring. That's right, a place that had countless numbers of souls in it as well as violent geothermic activity and he was bored to tears by it.

Of course, it wasn't his prophesized time to go back up to the surface and do anything fun like in that Omen movie, which was a bit overrated in his opinion. As if he had his marking on the back of his head; that would just be too obvious! In fact, any time he got out of here was usually too short to his liking and before he knew it he was back in this pit.

So when one of the fledgling teachers barged into the large, empty enclave that Satan used as a "throne room," complaining about a problem up on Earth, he was all ears and curious, already trying to think of a way to use it to his advantage and get out of here.

Now, he usually had nothing but contempt for fledgling teachers, demons who were so pathetic that all they did was teach newer generations of demons how to be textbook demons, teaching them anything from torture to possession. This particular one he hated more than any of the others; basically, when he had been born his father assigned him under the tutelage of this particular demon and well, there was still some animosity between them.

He kinda blocked out most of what the old griper was complaining about but from the gist of what he got, it seemed like something was happening up on Earth. Something about routine possession lessons and how some of the fledglings were losing their victims. He didn't really care about what it was and more on how he could possibly benefit from it.

"This is a calamity!" the teacher was shouting melodramatically. "How are demons suppose to learn how to possess someone if they can't practice?! You must do something about this, my lord! My students must have their practice!"

From his dark throne, the Lord of the Damned, the Fallen Angel known as Satan, stared down at his demonic servant, expressionless. Then, in an exasperated tone of voice that resonated ire, the Ruler of Hell demanded, "Well what do you want me to do about it? Can't they just bring the bodies back to life?"

"They haven't gotten that far!" the teacher cried out. "The latest one was torn apart by a pack of wolves and it was his first possession to boot! Now he refuses to go back up and possess someone else! And he's not the only one! At this rate, we won't have any new demons who know how to properly possess someone! How else are we suppose to keep those child molesting priests on their toes?"

"Um, why don't you do it yourself?" Satan suggested.

The teacher looked aghast at that and Damien was struggling not to roll his eyes in scorn. The demonic bastard probably hadn't possessed someone in millennia and would just embarrass himself if he tried. And how stupid did a demon have to be to get himself torn apart by wolves? What was he even doing that got him in the situation in the first place?

"But-but my lord! Someone is purposely killing their hosts! And none of them can tell me who it was or what they looked liked!" the teacher whined, inadvertently catching the Antichrist's attention.

Oh? There was foul play involved, huh?

"It's probably another Van Helsing wannabe or something," the Prince of Darkness shrugged. "Either that, or some bible freak. Just teach them the protocol of how to deal with Pat Robinson and Billy Graham in addition to the regular possession classes."

"But this is the sixth time this has happened!" the teacher blurted out, obviously trying to get out of having to teach more than he wanted to, "And it's always been in Northern Colorado!"

Curiouser and curiouser…damn that Lewis Carroll and his fucking looking glass…

"Northern Colorado? Why does that seem familiar?" Satan pondered out loud before the proverbial light bulb lit up above his head. "Wait, isn't that place in Northern Colorado? You know, the place where all that weird shit happens?"

"South Park, Father," Damien spoke up for the first time, his voice still high pitched much to his annoyance and his red eyes also lighting up in recognition. "You had that fight with Jesus there, you know, the one you threw?"

"Oh yeah, now I remember!" Satan exclaimed excitedly, his deep voice rising up to an embarrassing tenor before going back to the deep resonating and intimidating tone. "It's probably just some fad going on there. No worries."

"Perhaps, but maybe it should be checked out, just in case," Damien suggested. "If it's nothing but a fad, then no harm. But if it's something else, then we'll have to deal with it."

"Not this again, Damien," Satan sighed, looking down at his only son. The large red man knew where his son was trying to go with this and he didn't have to be a mindreader to pick up on it early. "I don't want you going up there; it isn't the right time."

"But Father!" the Antichrist whined, "I'm bored! And why do I have to wait for that fucking prophesy anyway?!"

"Because you're not ready and it's too dangerous," his father replied instantly, sounding more like a housewife than the Prince of Darkness. It was embarrassing to be told that, especially in public…

"But what can the surface throw at me that I can't handle?" he demanded. "I'm more powerful than any other demon, excepting you, and it would take more than a cross and some holy water to hurt me! Plus, atheists are taking over the world! They can't harm me with spiritually, or at least with as much as they have now! Besides, what if Heaven finds out about this and does something about it? Then they'll have the credit and something else to hold over our heads!"

"Damien, this isn't a contest," Satan sighed, his voice sounding light and put out while he rubbed his temples. "There's nothing to be competing for. It's just some demons-in-training being foolish enough to get themselves killed. Stop over exaggerating the situation."

"But my lord! Something must be done!" the fledgling teacher cried out.

"Would you excuse me for a minute?" the Dark Lord finally snapped, looking every bit like the nightmarish monster that the Christians made him out to be. "I need to have a talk with my son…"

The demon gulped but did as he was told and scuttled away. Now the Dark Lord and his only child were left alone to have it out with one another, a battle of wills that the Devilspawn hoped would go his way.

"Damien, why do you want to go up to Earth so much?" Satan sighed, looking at his son questioningly. "It's not like it's an interesting place anyway."

"Father, I want to get out," the teenage-looking boy stated. "I feel like I'm being cooped up and torturing the same people over and over again kinda gets dull after a while."

"Why don't you try not torturing the sinners and have conversations with them instead?" Satan suggested, wondering just when his boy got so sadistic. He had to have gotten that from his mother…

"I tried that and that was boring," Damien scoffed. "It's not like they'll be able to say anything new."

"But you were so unhappy the last time I let you stay up there," Satan pointed out.

"Things change," the boy argued. "It's probably a different place now!"

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but it isn't," the devil man replied. "If it's South Park, Colorado you're looking at, that place is still the same old hick town it was all those years ago. Nothing new about it."

"Father, look, this is a good opportunity for me," Damien began to argue, changing his tactics. "I can get some practice, figure out how mortals think and behave, maybe even get to annoy some Catholics while I'm at it. And there's that Eric Cartman kid you've been thinking about. I can at least judge what should be done with him while figuring out just who is killing our fledgling demons."

"If I agree, will you stop bugging me about going?" Satan asked, looking as if he was wanting to find anything to shut his son up.

"Absolutely," he agreed, crossing his fingers behind his back. He was evil incarnate; like he was going to honor any promise, pfft!

His father gave him a good long look before saying, "You'll have to take care of yourself; I'm not going to be getting you a house up there or feeding you. If you want to go that bad, you'll have to do without some things, including my help."

A bit peeved at this condition, Damien nevertheless agreed. He would think of something while he was up there, he was sure of it.

How hard was it going to be anyway?

* * *

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	2. Back into the Saddle

Author's Note: Quite a response there but I was hoping for a few more OCs. Oh well, the call's still out but will end once the "Send in your OCs" is deleted from the summary. Otherwise, everything is still fair game. Anyway, I had a writing spurt and here is the product of what is two days worth of writing. OCs used in this chapter will be disclaimed at the bottom. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warnings: language, typical South Park themes

Back into the Saddle

The faint knocking at his door was better than any kind of alarm clock one could buy but follow that with a "Wake up, Poopsykins, or you'll be late to school!" and you had Eric Cartman's wakeup call in a hitch.

The once small, fat tub of lard who was so anti-Semetic that he made Nazis look like the poster children for the Museum of Tolerance was now a large, fat tub of lard with a little bit more muscle and even more prejudices to boot.

Despite that, it was ironic that he had become an early riser, all thanks to his slut of a mother but you wouldn't hear him admit that, and he was already pushing himself out of his warm cocoon of blankets, muttering swears about castrating some Jews and boiling a Ginger in oil.

Oh well, you can't have everything, right?

So one morning routine later, which included a shower and a shave (he was finally growing his own facial and pubic hair this time) and some other little things that you didn't need to know about and he was at the kitchen table, greeted by a variable feast that he considered a mere snack. Chocolate chip flapjacks with butter and maple syrup, Belgian waffles topped with sweet fruits, sizzling bacon, crispy ham and cheese omelets, jam covered toast, a large bowl of Cheesy Poofs, glasses of orange juice, yeah, he'd could polish this all off in five minutes tops.

Of course, there was one thing missing but what could it be? Hmm, oh yeah, that's right!

Milk.

Cursing his overly chirpy mother under his breath as he had to move over to the refrigerator and collecting the carton himself, something he deeply resented. Why couldn't his mother be good at something? Honestly!

Of course, had he sat down and thought about it, he would have recalled that he didn't drink milk in the morning. In fact, if it wasn't chocolate milk, he didn't drink it at all.

The reason why he was taking out the milk carton was mainly because it would let him look upon a face he had despised, and still did, thus giving him some perverted sense of pleasure. Why was that? Well, you know how milk cartons sometimes came with a picture of a missing person?

Well, on the back of his carton was the picture of Kyle Broflovski. His eternal nemesis had disappeared sometime nearly six months ago and his bitch of a mother had been pulling out all the stops to find him. Some believed he had run away, others thought he had been kidnapped.

Cartman hoped that he was somewhere in Vegas prostituting himself but he didn't voice that out because everyone was so overly sensitive about everything.

Well, he still did voice it out, even if it wasn't PC, he didn't care and he didn't care either that people knew what he thought. He was the center of the universe and anything that had Kyle suffering in some form or fashion he was all for it.

Thank you God, you have made him so very happy.

He let out a burp as he finished off the last of the waffles, slurping at his juice but not taking his eyes off the picture on the back of the carton. Just knowing that Kyle was out there somewhere, hopefully suffering from AIDS, just made his day all that much better.

"Hurry up, Snookums," his mother said from the nearby stove, finishing up making some more pancakes. "You'll miss the bus if you don't hurry."

This was the reason why he got up early: he loved taking his time eating his breakfast, savoring each and every bite. Without even bothering to help put the dirty dishes in the sink or even put away the unopened milk carton, he trudged out of the kitchen and back up to his room to collect his backpack and school work, which he hadn't even bothered to do.

If there was anything that could kill his mood from a Kyle's-in-trouble-induced euphoria, it was having to take the bus to school. He had been on his mother, demanding that she get him a car or truck so that he could rub it in the face of the other kids at school but wouldn't you know, everybody else's parents had got them cars and he was stuck on the bus with the whinny elementary and middle schoolers.

It sucked so much balls that there wasn't a word to describe it.

"But Poopsykins, Mommy can't afford it right now," he muttered in a high pitched voice scathingly. "Damn it, why don't you just up your price when you whore yourself out," he added under his breath.

Yeah, you can tell he's the type of person who wanted what he wanted when he wanted it. It was the Dreamcast and Tooth Fairy scam all over again.

Out into the winter wonderland beyond his door, he scowled at the singing birds and was tempting to throw a rock at them. The problem there was that he couldn't see a rock nearby and he wasn't particularly looking for one either so the birds won this round…for now.

One bus trip later and there he was the only person getting off in front of the high school and his scowl was even more fixed on his face. He could tell that today wasn't going to be a good day at all—

Nearby, a snowball slammed into the back of an oblivious Pip, sending the French bastard into the snow.

—or perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. His scowl turned into a smirk and he laughed at Pip's misfortune, taking care to walk on top of the blond boy, his heavy foot slamming into the boy's back, and head for the school building itself to get out of the cold.

It was near the doors that would allow him entrance into the building that he came across his second distraction of the day. Heading for the doors as well was a short, auburn haired girl who had a smile on her face and was humming the tune of a song to herself. Abnormally long fingernails were clasped onto the straps of her backpack and her long hair was billowing slightly into the wind over her gray and black striped hoodie.

He couldn't resist, he just couldn't.

"Well, well, if it ain't the Jew werewolf," he sneered at her, the girl's heterochromatic eyes snapping over to him instantly and the pleasant face contorted into an expression of hatred completely directed at him. "See the moon last night or were you too busy licking yourself to notice?"

A blue-green colored eye and a red one flashed in annoyance and ire and the girl snapped back, "Why don't you shove it up your ass, Cartman!" She her teeth were now visible, revealing how sharp they were.

"I'd shove it up your ass if I wasn't afraid of getting Jew rabies," he shot back, reveling in the pure wrath that was wrapping around the small girl. With a chuckle, he slipped in to the school, shutting the door behind him just in time for the girl to run right into it when she lunged at him.

Sweet.

Siryn Lupus was just so easy to rile up, just like Kyle. It also didn't hurt that she was Jewish as well, an irresistible combination that he just had to goad. They just made it so easy sometimes.

He shuffled forth down the hallway, slamming a freshman into the lockers on a whim and passing by the restrooms where a tan girl with glasses and long, dark brown hair stood, her brown eyes watching his every step with longing. She tightly held a binder up to her chest over her zipped-up, navy blue hoodie and he could see from the corner of his eye that her knees were shaking slightly.

Hope didn't have a hope of ever winning him over but he had to admit that her oversized rack was worth the view. Even if she was lacking in other things, i.e. lack of coordination and self esteem, she definitely wasn't short changed where it counted.

Other boys were certainly eyeing her up as well but Hope only seemed to have eyes for him and he led her around like the sorry little puppy that she was. He had to admit that it was sweet how sometimes she took the verbal abuse he threw at her without a single complaint. Maybe that was why he was a bit possessive over her, not letting another guy get close enough to even speak a word to her.

In fact, she was walking in his shadow right now, just like the obedient slave that she was. Now let's see, he thought to himself, what was first period again? He couldn't recall and didn't feel like exerting himself at the moment so he threw his little shadow a bone and asked her.

"Oh silly!" she said loudly, trying to sound playful. "We have Chemistry, remember? We have to—" She was suddenly cut off as she tripped over her own feet but she managed not to fall right into him, instead running into a trashcan and toppling it and all its contents all over.

He laughed loudly at the display but uncharacteristically helped her back onto her feet. His raucous laughter thundered through the hallway and over all the noise from conversations the other students were having. Right beside him, Hope's face reddened to the shade of a tomato and she shrunk in on herself, embarrassed.

He slapped her companionably on her shoulder, making her wobble but managing to keep her balance.

"You're such a hoot, ya know that?" he laughed as he continued towards his class, pausing long enough to ask her just where the classroom was again.

It was hard trying to remember where places were and why should he have to expend the energy anyway when he had a walking, talking daily planner at his side?

---

The climate of South Park always gave the Antichrist a bit of a shock. The freezing temperatures were a startling contrast to the radiant heat of Hell and the thin, black outfit he was wearing was discovered to be quite unsatisfactory at retaining heat. He cursed the small mountain town for the discomfort and summoned up a much thicker outfit to replace his typical wear, still retaining his signature black color.

A loud car horn blared from behind him and he spun around to glare at the driver who honked at him again, the Son of Satan not realizing that he was in the middle of the road.

"Hey asshole! Get off the road!" the driver shouted at him, flipping him the bird.

Damien narrowed his eyes, his red eyes alight with flames and suddenly the car in front of him exploded, sending yet another soul to Hell. Those that had witnessed this just stared then shrugged and went on about their business as if this kind of stuff happened all the time.

Snorting at the heedlessness of these mortals, Damien remained rooted to the spot where he had first appeared and lifted his nose up into the air, sniffing. Oh yes, he could smell the sin in the air but that wasn't what he was looking for. Sure he was in no rush but who was to say he couldn't take his time on this mission?

He caught a funny smell and looking ahead with determination, he set off to follow it. A few minutes later found him on the sidewalk, a piece of paper in his hand while a cop car sped off. Well how was he suppose to know that you had to walk on the sidewalk in this town? Stupid police man, whoever he was, he made sure to note to make that asshole suffer for this indignation when he died and went to Hell.

He crumpled the ticket up and tossed it next to a trash can, purposely littering. Hey, he was the Son of the Devil, he had to do little things like littering, it was in his contract with Comedy Central.

By now, the funny scent had died down but he wasn't in a hurry. He strolled down the sidewalk, taking in just how little this town had changed in all the time he had spent away from it. It was as if time had frozen along with the rest of the town; the rednecks were still the same, the buildings had hardly changed and he was on the verge of considering doing a little redecorating, the tools of the trade mainly consisting of fire and brimstone.

That would have to wait for now, no matter much he wanted to do some evil.

He left downtown South Park but not before blowing up a fire hydrant. He chuckled evilly to himself, enjoying how far his powers had progressed over the years. It used to be that he had to be angry in order to access them but now he was able to summon them up at will. It was fantastic and memories of some students back at South Park Elementary flickered through his mind.

Maybe he should pay them a visit and cause a little chaos while he was at it?

Was that even a question?

---

After an embarrassing stop off at South Park Elementary, Damien found himself before South Park High School where the class of students he had joined all those years ago had relocated. It was foolish of him to have expected those children not to have grown up over the years since he had been gone but sometimes even a person like him could overlook things.

But now that he was faced with a building full of hormone crazed teenagers, he shivered in delight at the amount of sin that was reeking from it. It seemed like the students from Mr. Garrison's third grade class had only gotten worse over the years.

It was a heady feeling to know that ninety-nine percent of the people alone in that one building was going to Hell.

With casual footsteps, he trekked to the front entrance and went straight in without a second thought. At that moment, it was a passing period between classes and the hallways were flooded with raucous, overgrown children.

And not a single one paid him any attention.

That may have been because he was keeping to the shadows and if people didn't think you were there, well they didn't see you. His eyes began to smolder evilly as he took in every teenager in sight and peered into their souls, every shred of information about them flooding into his brain.

He could see over there an African American boy by the name of Token Black, football star of the South Park Cows, richest parents in town, a handsome young stud who knew he was handsome and knew all the girls knew as well. He could see his soul was tainted by pride and greed and forgotten memories of him being extremely cheap with others took over the more prized thoughts of scoring touchdowns and fucking half the cheerleading squad.

All the images of Token Black were soon replaced by another student, this time a Caucasian individual with blond hair and small stature; one whose soul the Antichrist frowned at. A name popped up in his mind and his frown deepened. So Phillip Pirrup, a.k.a. Pip, was still around? He hadn't committed suicide yet? And in the name of his father, that soul was so pure and squeaky clean that there was no doubt he was going to Heaven.

The purity made him want to puke and he switched his eyes over to the nearest sinner he could find.

This time it was a girl whose named turned out to be a Jess Skidmore, a girl of average size with long brown hair and dark blue highlights and a ton of black eyeliner around her eyes who was currently punching the door to her locker in frustration when it wouldn't open. He could see beneath her gray Fall Out Boy shirt that her soul was dipped in wrath, and a lovely flavor of it at that. It made up for seeing into Pip's soul but not by much though when she began swearing like a sailor at her locker made him quirk a smirk.

Another sinner soon passed by this girl, a taller girl with long, glossy, light brown hair whose white skin hinted at European ancestry and had brown eyes though he couldn't tell any detail in them from the distance he was standing at. He noticed how easily she walked in her cargo pants and, oddly enough, neon green shirt and immediately the name Charlotte White, a.k.a. Charlie, appeared in his mind's eye. Hmm, there was wrath, pride, and just a touch of envy staining this soul and…could this be? Ah, there was some blood there, nice. He could probably figure out, if he felt like it, whether or not the life she had taken had been in defense or flat out murder but he wasn't in the mood quite yet.

However, he was paying enough attention to see her eyes shift to the side at someone and a flash of longing appeared for a second before disappearing entirely. For a moment, lust had overwhelmed her soul before returning to its status quo but now he was curious. He turned his eyes in the direction hers had gone and he nearly lost his balance at the stench resonating off this soul.

This soul was black and corroded and drowned in so much blood that he only needed to glance at it to see that this particular specimen had killed before and in cold blood too. The dark heart in which this rank soul belonged beat within a small package, one wrapped in a black trenchcoat and topped with flat brown hair that looked as if it had just separated from a pillow.

He wasn't able to see just who this person was due to the fact that the obviously male being had his back turned towards him. At least that was until the male made a turn to his right and the spawn of Satan got a look into a cold brown eye.

A name appeared out of the fogginess in his head but Damien already knew that he had just found an interesting specimen, one in which he believed he would be acquainted with real soon…

* * *

Siryn Lupus: **Meekrat142**

Hope Anne Tompson: **EmoWithASpork**

Jess Skidmore: **SouthParkCraigLover**

Charlotte White: **DefectCriminal**


	3. How to Stalk

Author's Note: My, an explosions of reviews and in so little time too. Managed to produce this one quickly and I'm still in the market for OCs. However, I'd like to see maybe a couple more male ones as I've mainly only have gotten female ones, with the exception of one. Still, send them in, only I know when I have enough and right now I don't have the feeling that I have too many. So, for your reading enjoyment, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

How to Stalk

The first thing that came to mind whenever Charlie White was mention was that she was independent. She did things how she wanted, when she wanted, and fuck all who got in her way. The second thing that came to mind was that she had an odd taste in the men she liked.

Of course, she didn't give a shit what people thought about her. What did they know? Exactly, that's what she thought.

Her life hadn't been the easiest, not by a long shot. Cancer at a young age, a homicidal maniac whom she called brother trying to kill her, yeah, she had had a lot on her plate in a short amount of time. Despite the severity of the previous issues, each had been resolved; the cancer by intervention from that guy from the public access show and her brother…well let's say it had been a bit messy.

Epic but messy.

When you were to look at her from a physical standpoint, you could see that she was friendly with everybody yet at the same time it seemed like she had no friends. In the classroom she was talkative and active with her peers but when she wasn't in school, she kept to herself a lot, immersing herself in the adventurous tales of Sherlock Holmes. Needless to say, she also enjoyed the recent Robert Downy Jr. portray of the character and her a poster for the movie in her room to gaze at starstruck.

But then there came the contradiction in her. Like most high school students, she had a crush on a fellow student and boy was it out there.

Despite being an avid Sherlock Holmes fan, the person that she had set her romantic sights on could be better described as Professor Moriarty than a deductive detective with a penchant for tobacco and cocaine.

For this reason, people believed that she was either out of her mind or had been dropped one too many times on her head. To her, they could all go to hell, and anyway, she had always had a thing for those crazy, morally lacking individuals. They were more interesting than those boring people who everybody liked.

It hadn't been love at first sight, though. If anything, it had been more hate at first sight as the two of them seemed to be in some eternal dance of violence and insults. But time has a funny way of turning everything around you upside down and by the time she had turned sweet sixteen, she knew where her affections lied.

But Bain Cynis was still the same asshole she had met at the bus stop when she had first moved back to South Park after spending time on the run, hiding from her psychopathic brother. Nevertheless, that didn't stop her eyes from wandering over to his small shape whenever they were passing one another in the hallway. You know, if he didn't look so emotionless and radiate all those "hate waves" as everybody called them, he could reasonably be called cute.

Right now, she was to be deprived of Bain as she had to be bored to death in her history class. Not that she didn't have anything against history, she liked it, it was just the teacher was so boring and so…monotone.

No really, you could be the most alert person in the world but after five minutes of hearing the teacher yap and you had the cure to insomnia.

The bell hadn't rung yet so she still had a few precious moments to say goodbye to consciousness, that and tolerate the attention of one Joshua Fairman.

Now, she had nothing against the guy, even though the scar on his right cheek and his crooked nose did make him look like the kind of person your mother warned you about to avoid at all cost.

Yet he didn't act like thug despite the fact that his nose and scar hinted at it. It was rumored among the students that he had gotten the wounds in some kind of fight years ago and Joshua said nothing to dissuade it, just shrug and looked away.

Short spiky hair framed the top of his head and green eyes spoke of hints of arrogance, his lithe body covered up in a gray hoodie, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and baggy, dark blue Cargos. Not a bit of dirt or grime could be seen on his person, something unexpected when you assumed him to be a street thug.

But he was nice, once you talked with him. You just had to be the one to speak first and then he almost had a verbal diarrhea of the mouth. She had found that out the hard way and while she didn't mind him, she did mind the times he had tried to hit on her. It was a fault that she had not only experienced but also observed; Joshua had a habit of becoming infatuated with anything that had breasts, walked on two legs, and spoke to him.

It was scary sometimes as he literally leapt from infatuation to obsession without stopping for a break at love.

Not that she wasn't obsessed, nope, no sirree!

In fact, she had come across Joshua and Bain together and the latter seemed pissed off for some reason. Whatever had been said between the two, she didn't know but she did know that Joshua's attempts to woo her decreased dramatically. It was obvious that Bain threatened him and who knew what went on inside that head of his.

Anyway, she could see from the corner of her eye that Joshua was smiling dumbly at her and she had the feeling that once again he was going to try again. It was like she was the default girl to him or something; whenever something didn't work out with a girl, he always turned his sights on her. At least the attention was nice, at first.

Or maybe she was blowing this thing a bit out of proportion as Joshua asked her sheepishly in a masculine bass, "You have yesterday's notes? I kinda…fell asleep and…"

"Who doesn't?" she snorted. "I did too."

"Me too!" Siryn Lupus chirped from her other side. "Isn't Miss Olero just so boring?"

Both Charlie and Joshua stared at her blankly as she smiled back, her sharp teeth almost visible. When had they invited her into the conversation? Then again, Siryn did that to everyone and most would just let her speak her mind, knowing that she had an opinion that everyone needed to know. And she was Jewish but no one but Cartman held that against her.

Speaking of which, there was a pale, red indentation on her forehead, and Charlie found that she couldn't help but ask, "Run into Cartman?"

"Fucking fatass," Siryn spat out, her friendly face melting away into irritation. "Just wait until lunchtime, I'll show him just who's a werewolf!"

Charlie raised an eyebrow but didn't comment further as Siryn devolved into grumbled swears, most likely plotting to eviscerate Cartman the next time she saw him.

"Right," Joshua blinked, recapturing Charlie's attention. "Anyway…uh, wanna go out and see a movie later? Chill?"

How sweet, but she already had a date with Sherlock Holmes and she couldn't let the world's greatest detective down. "Maybe another time," she replied just as Miss Olero shuffled into the classroom from God knows where, bringing a foul stench that hinted at the restroom.

"Alright class," she drolled as soon as the bell shrilling rang, signally that the passing period was over, "take out your text books and turn to chapter 15. I want you to listen carefully and answer the questions on page 334. Now…"

Oh joy, dreamland here she came.

---

Jugs, jugs, jugs galore, this was the only reason why Kenny McCormick even attended school. It was also why he never missed P.E. The girls had to change into their skimpy, school issued gym clothes (which he had a part in making official thanks to the Fatass and some fake official forms) and then he would be entertained by the bouncing…and the bouncing…and…where was he again?

He suddenly found himself being shoved aside as a dodge ball whistled past his head with frightening speed. Brought back into the sadistic game of dodge ball that the coach was forcing them to play, he threw a charming grin at his savior, thin, green-eyed, blonde girl who had black eyeliner thickly applied around her worried eyes.

"Kenny! You need to be more careful!" Victoria "Tori" McCormick scolded as she hauled him back onto his feet and pushed him ahead of here. "Craig almost hit you again and don't you remember what happened last time?"

Oh he remembered…part of it. He remembered staring at a girl's rack when he looked up only to see red rubber and then the fires of Hell. What he was told later was that Craig had thrown a dodge ball at him so hard and so fast that it had decapitated him. The coach wasn't paying attention to the homicide and so they had to continue playing the game over his dead corpse.

Seeing Craig flip him off from the other side and disappear in the swarm of students playing, he chuckled nervously as tried his best to emulate a soldier on the beach during Normandy, his cousin Tori following right behind him. It was nice that the girl was looking out for him but he could take care of himself! He was a big boy, ya know!

There was a whisking sound followed by a thud coming from behind him and he threw a glance back behind him to see that his cousin was on her ass, a ball bouncing from right beside her ominously. Well, crap, looks like Tori was out.

Wait, Tori was out?

She was out?!

Oh man, oh man, Tori was out! He had to stay on his toes now; no one else was going to be considerate enough to save his ass from a one way trip to Hell. Or Heaven, he couldn't really think of anything he had done that might force him to descend rather than ascend.

But wait, he was a big boy! He didn't need to be supervised! That's right! He could do this. He would do this. He'll win the game and prove that he could take anything they could dish out at him. He was pumped now, he was full of win, he was—

Something in the corner of his eye distracted him and he paused only long enough to get a good look at it. It was a person dressed all in black and whoever it was was watching their game intensely. From this angle it kinda looked like it was a guy with red eyes…

Wait, red eyes? Dressed all in black? That was no Goth trying to be nonconformist here! What the hell was Dam—

He heard his cousin scream out his name, followed by the sensation of something hitting his chest and throwing him backwards. A ball fell to the ground and bounced and the blond came to the reason that he had just got hit and was out. Huh, he was still alive? Not dead but alive? Alright.

High above his head, a ceiling light fixture broke off and plummeted through the air to land straight on him and squish him like a bug into a splatter of blood. However, he didn't die instantly; he could hear someone screaming, someone sounding awfully like the coach…

"Dammit McCormick!"

---

It was always amusing to watch the McCormick boy die and it never got old to the Son of Satan. He could hear someone scream out, "Oh my God! They killed Kenny!" but he didn't hear the accompanying phrase "You bastards!"

Huh, oh well, it was none of his concern. What was of interest was the mortal that he had been stalking thus far without fail. The small individual had been standing at the back of the gym, behind all his teammates and hadn't done a thing to help out in the dodgeball battle as his team was decimated by the obviously superior team.

He looked incredibly bored yet at the same time irritated that he had to be involved at all with this and when it came the time that he was literally the last person of his team not hit, he ignored the jibes from the other team to come at them and simply walked off the court to sit in the bleaches with the rest of his fallen team. He ignored the complaints from the others, not just from his team but from the opposing one as well, demanding that he get back out there and do something.

It seemed a single glare from this mortal was enough to stop the demands as well as freeze the tension in the gym. The coach, not paying any attention, didn't make any effort to say the dodgeball game was over and whenever those of the opposing team tried to leave and talk to him, the coach would scream at them to remain on the court until the game was over, oblivious to the fact that the game was in fact over.

The mortal's name resonated in his immortal head, Bain Cynis. Quite the interesting specimen if he said so himself. He had never seen a mortal this young, outside of Eric Cartman, have such a blackened soul and he was intrigued by it. If he wanted to, though, he could just see into that deliciously sinned soul and learn all there was to learn about the young mortal but he decided against it.

It would be too boring to do that and what was the worst that could happen? What could an angsting teen with little to no life experience do to him? If there was one trait he did share with his father, it was that he loved to play games and mortals were always the perfect suckers to play against.

Hell, by the time his body showed him off as equivalent to about a ten year old boy, he had indulged in drugs, sex, alcohol, and every single activity and substance that was detrimental to one's health and why wouldn't he? He was the son of Satan and unable to be destroyed by mortal innovations and weaknesses.

The bell signaling that the period was over sounded too quickly for his tastes but seeing his prey stalk out of the gym, back in his casual wear, and he followed after unheeded by the tumult of teenagers that flooded the hallways.

Five minutes later, he had followed Bain into a classroom where the small teen had commandeered a desk and was busy reading book, no doubt checked out from the school's underfunded library. He kept to whatever little shadow that was in this room, his eyes only straying far enough to note the other students hustling in as the passing period was drawing to a close.

He was able to pick out a few familiar faces, such as Stan Marsh, one of the boys that had tormented him when he had first attended this horrible school district and one that had certainly filled out into a muscular frame that one would only find with a football player, and Clyde Donovan, a boy that he hadn't had much interaction with but still disliked as a matter of principle. Yes, the little boys that he had once had to study with had certainly grown up and in more ways than ones. Their once innocent (heh, like any of these boys had _ever_ been innocent) minds were now contaminated with hormonal urges and sexual conquests, both accomplished and planned.

In Clyde's head alone, he could see so many vision of sex with so many different girls as well as different alcohol levels. Huh, Mr. Donovan was a lot more flexible than he looked… And Mr. Tucker over there…so bland yet thoughts of smoking weed consumed his mind. Stan Marsh over there was much more morose in comparison. Scratch that, he was on the other end of the emotional spectrum. He could sense an incredible amount of guilt, his haunted blue eyes wandering over towards an empty seat that no one had yet to occupy.

Hmm, perhaps there was some potential; he'd have to look further into it later, maybe get another person to sell their soul to him.

One of the last teens to enter the classroom was a girl he recognized from earlier, the name Charlotte White popping back up into his head. He quirked an eyebrow as she took a seat in the desk next to Bain, her eyes flickering over to the smaller boy quickly and looking ahead immediately.

Then to the Antichrist's surprise, Bain spoke.

"I assume it was oral since you're not limping," the boy said dryly, his voice scratchy yet velvety at the same time, his eyes not even leaving the pages in his book. One could either be warded off or lured in by that voice.

"And I assume that you're not reading The Exorcist again since you don't have a boner," the girl, Charlotte, shot back.

Bain pried his eyes off his book and glared at the girl beside him, the hostility radiating off him palpable even to a blind person. Damien wasn't impressed, though; he had seen and been on the receiving in of much worse.

"Don't push your luck, Charlotte," the boy warned, his eyes nearly glowing with rage and from the angle he was at, Damien could swear that the boy's eye was green. Funny, he thought he had brown eyes… "I've just sharpened Winslow again and would be more than happy to see him pierce your flesh."

"Good luck with that then, tiger," Charlotte shot back at him. "Maybe this time, you'll actually cut me."

"You grind my nerves, bitch."

"You wish I was grinding something else."

Bain's glare of hatred intensified but before he could retort, the bell rang and a voice that had remained with Damien even since he had left this Godforsaken town reentered his life and not in a pleasant way either.

"Good morning class," Herbert Garrison greeted. "Today we're going to be talking about why Ellen DeGeneres shouldn't be a judge on American Idol and how to tell when someone is about to get amnesia on General Hospital…"

* * *

Joshua Fairman: MysticShadowFall

Victoria McCormick: Sailor Lyoko


	4. Spicing It Up

Author's Note: I'm just laying these chapters out like nobody's business here. If you don't like the pace of how things are moving, well then I guess you're just going to have to deal. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Spicing It Up

He sat in his seat, bored out of his mind but only showing a look of disinterest as Garrison rambled on. To be truthful, he was more interested in when the currently male teacher would change its orientation or gender again than he was concerned with the status of a muff diver.

He'd rather _he_ have amnesia so that he could possibly regain any and all brain cells he was going to lose just by listening it Garrison.

It was quite the understatement to say that Bain Cynis was an unfriendly guy. If anything, he despised the very ground his peers (now that was grade A bullshit) and current superiors (superior to what? A mentally handicapped individual?) walked on and there wasn't a day when he didn't at least plot one homicide, choosing a victim, making sure he didn't get any blood on him or leave any DNA at the scene of the crime.

It was a fun pastime, one that he indulged daily yet didn't enact mainly because he knew he'd be the first suspect on anyone's who-dun-it list. It didn't take a genius, which he was by the way, to know that he shouldn't have alienated everybody and spooked them away all these years as now his credibility was completely shot.

The upside, though, was that he could insult anyone to their face and the rest of the populace would just shrug it off as him being, well, him.

Of course, there were exceptions to this rule. Why to his front left, there sat the overachieving, disgustingly righteous, and incredibly feminist Wendy Testaburger. Oh how he hated that little bitch in her purple coat and beret. Always a know-it-all, always having to be right, there were times he wanted nothing but to wrap his hands around her scrawny neck and squeeze.

An academic rival, yes, but other than that he had no real contact with her and he would have preferred none at all. Just the sight of her made him bloodthirsty and his fingers twitched unconsciously. Oh, if only he could get her alone where nobody could see them, the things that he would inflict on her…

He was salivating at the thought but was aware enough not to drool or let any out. Sure he was the antisocial shadow of the school but just because he liked nobody and everyone stayed away from him didn't mean he wanted them to talk about such things behind his back.

Yet, that did nothing to soothe the ire he had for that purple bitch. If only she had been on the fringes in the social hierarchy, he'd have an easier time disposing of her.

Something colorful in his peripheral vision attracted his attention and a glance was all he needed to know just what exactly was colorful this day. Of course, _she_ was always colorful be it in clothes or the words that came out of her mouth whenever she was pissed or shy.

Clad in a rainbow of colors from the pink long sleeve shirt with rolled up sleeves and white All Time Low tank top over it to the yellow plaid miniskirt and half-turquoise and half-pink stripped pants, from dazzling bracelets to the white and pink polka dotted bow in her rainbow colored hair, Rhiannon Edwards had forever earned his loathing the first day he had met her.

It wasn't that she was a kaleidoscope of colors, per say, that earned his displeasure, but the fact that the Sad Clown herself had dared to approach and kiss him on the cheek, not only invading her personal space but desecrating his untouched, pale skin with her salivary juices.

For that, and that alone, she had to go.

However, there was one little factor that just had to be an obstacle in the way at every possible moment and it happened to take on the form of a very tall, very big, French mercenary wannabe. Feh, _ze Mole_? There was no denying that the teen was tough and knew his way around a fight. Of all the people, why did that little rainbow bitch have to couple off with him?! Nowadays he had to spend his time biding it, waiting for the opportunity that just never came. Just the thought of it all was enough to put him in a foul enough mood that he scowled, his eyes snapping upwards back to Garrison who seemed like it was about to call on someone.

Garrison's eyes met with his and the teacher stumbled over his words for a second, not prepared for so much malice to be sent his way that he jumped to another, totally unrelated topic that consisted of why the chicken came before the retarded fish-frog and not the other way around.

By God, did this _thing_ ever stop yapping?

His eyes wandered to his right and stopped at the person right next to him, staring boredly at Garrison and looking as if she was going to fall asleep at any moment. It was the one member of the female race that he tolerated (and that's a loose definition) to a degree. Another "friend" of Rhiannon Edwards but unlike the rainbow bitch, Charlotte didn't hide behind a Frenchman who should go back over the Atlantic and was one of the few people who willingly interacted with him on a daily basis.

By now, all his attempts to cause her physical harm were half-hearted but he hadn't given up yet. Besides, he had seen her when she was at her weakest and he had replicated that fear in other eyes, the best example being in those of her late brother Jack.

He debated on whether or not to strike at her again but ultimately declined the idea seeing as he just didn't feel in the mood. Hmm, maybe he was starting to mellow out or something. Too bad he left Winslow home then; he really could use a "sharp" friend at the moment.

Eventually, Garrison ran out of words and it was pure luck that the bell rang just then. He nearly smirked but schooled his features so that he remained dispassionate. It was only then that something dark caught his eye and he turned his head to investigate it. Huh, nothing there. His brain must be overactive again.

Well, if the smells coming from the cafeteria were any indication, he would be able to satisfy it but he had to wait just a little longer. He had the second lunch of the day and he seethed at the injustice of it.

Just one more thing for him to hate.

---

The lunch room was cacophonous as the multitudes of students forced their way in, all determined to get the crappy school prepared meals just waiting for them. There was a new kitchen staff this year as the last staff used to make foods so toxic that someone actually gained superpowers from them.

The powers were temporary and the poor bastard happened to be souring between two skyscrapers when he lost them. But, since he was Kenny, he was back in school the next day.

One of the first students to get a lunch and claim a table was none other than Stan Marsh, star quarterback of the South Park Cows and average C student. If you were to take a good look at the Marsh boy, you'd see that he wasn't his typical jocular self. Sure he looked fine, or at least he didn't look like he was depressed enough to go Goth again, but anyone with half a brain cell could tell that he was sad about something.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that his best friend had been missing for six months, though when asked he never confirmed or denied it. Maybe it was because his gay dog, Sparky, had got run over by a car while trying to get it on. Maybe it could just be a whole series of circumstances that separate wouldn't have any effect on him.

Well, whatever it was, he was subdued, that was for sure, and he expressed it with a deep, heartfelt sigh. Cartman, who had just taken up two chairs, heard this and frowned at the jock.

"Okay, hippie, what is it this time?" he demanded. "Are you still being a fag over your boyfriend?"

"Shut it fatass," Stan grunted half heartedly. Sure, he wasn't in the mood to listen to Cartman's bullshit but then again, who was?

"Okay, seriouslah, Stan, you need to get that sand outta your vagina," the fatass stated, sounding completely serious despite the absurdity of his words. "Either that, or get laid. It's not like ya just broke up with that hippie bitch again."

When Stan didn't respond, Cartman had an incredulous look on his chubby face.

"Since when did you and the hippie get back together anyway!" he demanded. "And why wasn't I informed of this?!"

"Six months ago," Stan muttered.

"Six months? Eh, didn't that Jew go missing then?" Cartman asked, putting two and two together before a wicked smirk curved his lips. "Oh, I see, you and your assramin' Jew boyfriend had a fight and he left. Oh, such a shame!"

Stan merely glared at the fatass, not denying what the other said mainly because there was a grain of truth in it. The two of them had had a fight and yes, it had been over him getting back together with Wendy again, as was part of their on-again-off-again relationship, and that had been the last time he had seen his best friend.

He didn't like that his last memories were of him and Kyle fighting one another and it made him physically sick at times that that was how they had parted. Wendy had been patient with him for all those months but had only recently gotten annoyed with his moping and called it off again.

So now he had two things to be depressed about, great. He was starting to get that urge to write dark poetry and complain about how cruel the world was again.

"Aw no, you're about to go faggy Goth on me again, aren't you?" Cartman exclaimed, looking pissed. "Goddamn it Stan, I swear if you do that, I'll make you eat your parents. Seriouslah."

His patience to deal with the fatass was gone when usually he could go for about another five more insults but as it was said before, he wasn't in the mood to deal with him. With a growl, he shoved his untouched tray forwards to the fatass with a growl, got up and stomped away, wanting to get as far away as he could.

Cartman, though, was more concerned with the addition food he had been presented with and only said, "Sweet."

Lately, Stan had been finding his tolerance for the fatass shrinking to the point that he could swear he was Kyle's replacement. Did Cartman have nothing else better to do than to taunt him? Well, actually there might be some truth in that.

Damn it, where the hell was Kyle? Was he all right? Had he been kidnapped or had he run away? Was he even still al—of course he was alive, damn it! How could he even think about that other possibility? He just had to trust that one day his best friend would return and that he could appropriately apologize to him.

And then everything would go back to the way it always was. Until then, though, he would play his best on the field, try and be friendly to those people he liked, and try to maintain that C average of his.

It was going to be tough; what was he saying, it was tough!

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him but he didn't turn around to see who it was. It could be Wendy or Bebe for all he cared, he wasn't in the mood for this high school drama bullshit!

"Stan? You okay?" a soft voice asked him and he didn't recognize it.

Despite not wanting to see who it was, he did so anyway, coming face to face with fair-skinned, brown haired girl with brown eyes outlined with violet mascara and black eyeliner. A burgundy-colored scarf wrapped around her neck, just above the black trenchcoat she wore that looked infinitely better than…the other guy that went to school here, you know the creepy one, what's his face, gold hoop rings dangling from her ears and glinting in the crappy school lighting.

He stared hard at her, no name popping up in his head as she shifted her weight nervously under his scrutiny. Finally, he tactlessly asked, "Who're you?"

The girl's cheeks blushed faintly but she straightened her shoulders and said confidently, "We have Math together. I sit right beside you."

Stan continued to stare back at her. "Nope, not ringing any bells."

The girl frowned at him slightly. "I let you copy from my worksheet this morning!"

Stan blinked. "You're going to have to be more specific."

The girl stared incredulously at him for a second before sighing, "I'm Kyra, remember? Kyra McCloud?"

"If you say so," he shrugged. "Thanks for letting me copy off you, I guess. Is there something you wanted?"

The girl's blush brightened a degree and the confidence she once had seeped away yet she stood her ground. "I just wanted to say…I guess…what I wanted to tell you was…well…"

"Can you hurry it up?" he asked rudely. It wasn't that he was trying to be mean to Kyra, it was just that he didn't really hang out with girls. In fact, he didn't know most of their names and the ones he did were Wendy and Bebe and the latter only because she had boobs. Like, big, enormous boobs, the kind that Kenny once drooled on when she was passed out drunk. Later that night, Kenny died from a combination of drinking too much and having a nosebleed, though how that was possible, he had no idea.

"If you need someone to talk to, you can talk to me!" Kyra finally blurted out, her face almost as red as a tomato. He'd say apple but the school didn't serve those anymore after that creepy guy he mentioned earlier went crazy and killed Kenny. Still, he could see that she was going out on a limb for him there and he appreciated it. Yet, he had more important things on his mind at the moment so he decided to get rid of her quickly.

"Sure, thanks," he said before turning around and trudging away to try to find a place he could be emo in peace.

He didn't notice as Kyra's shoulders slumped and her head bowed down.

---

Kyra McCloud sighed as she returned to the cafeteria, internally berating herself for what she had just done. However, as soon as the sight of the other students came into view, she straightened her shoulders and strolled right through it, not wanting to show any sort of weakness.

Still, she thought to herself, she shouldn't have gone after Stan on the spur of a moment. She couldn't help it, though, when she saw her crush abruptly stand up and storm away from Eric Cartman. She had wanted nothing more than to comfort him but then came that disaster of a conversation where she discovered to her shock that he didn't even remember her.

It hurt to think that the boy she was in love with didn't know she existed and that in and of itself preyed on her insecurities. To everyone who met her, they thought she was a bit of a flirt, a flirt with class, but a flirt nonetheless, with a streak of confidence that stretched from one end of Colorado to the other. Once they got to know her a bit more, they became a bit put off and called her a goody two-shoes behind her back when they thought she couldn't hear them.

All the more reason to put up a front that she wasn't bothered about what they said about her, sticks and stones after all. Too bad the saying got it wrong; the words hurt more than the stones.

She passed by a table and paused, looking back at the figure of Hope Tompson who seemed a bit depressed as she gaze over at the gorging Cartman. Indecisive for a minute, she turned around and sat down at Hope's table, feeling the need to comfort another soul like hers.

Hope blinked when she realized she was there and snapped her eyes away from Cartman to look at her quizzically. "What do you want?" she asked bluntly.

"Heard about this morning," she said to the other brunette. "You okay?"

Hope snorted. "Why wouldn't I be? It's not like I completely humiliated myself, right?"

Kyra replied, "I don't think being overly nice is going to get through to him. It was a nice try but what do you really see in him?"

"What everybody else can't for some reason," she drawled, looking back over at Cartman who happened to be looking at her and gave her a saucy wink. She swallowed noisily at that and looked away, her hand grabbing at the silver cross she wore around her neck. "Did you see that?"

"He's teasing you," she stated. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Be careful about what?" Hope frowned. Then her eyes lighted up in understanding. "Why does everyone say that?" she complained. "He's not as bad as everyone makes him out to be."

"That's because you weren't here to see him feed Scott Tenormann's parents to him," she told her frankly. "Ever since then, nobody has really tried to piss him off. They're afraid he'll do it again."

"How can you make someone eat their parents?" Hope asked, genuinely curious.

"Don't really know except it involves a pony biting someone's dick off and chili," Kyra shrugged. "I wasn't there to see it. I just heard everybody talk about it."

"Whatever you say," Hope rolled her eyes, crossing her arms underneath her well-endowed breasts that many of the girls were jealous of. That too included Kyra who felt woefully inadequate in comparison. Just another thing to add to her insecurities…

---

The growling of stomachs seemed to be the catalysts to increase the amount of resentment of the students as they were all turning a slight shade of gluttony. Damien was mildly impressed by it but it was readily explained away by all the selfishness that the school seemed to incubate.

Damn, he so wanted to have these people in Hell; he bet it wouldn't take much to have them all descend into sin. In fact, he was willing to wager all his unholy powers that they'd do it in a heartbeat with the least provocation.

So much sin, so much potential, why'd did it all have to be in the chaotic vortex that was the town of South Park? It just wasn't fair sometimes.

His eyes wandered around the room full of agitated teens, Bain in the back and seemingly radiated hatred from every pore in his body. It was nice to look at but eventually he had to look around the room for someone else to interest him in the meantime.

His eyes landed on a familiar brunette with blue highlights in her hair and he decided to mess around with her head. It would provide valuable entertainment and he could hardly wait to start.

He peered into her heart, reading the memories etched into Jess Skidmore's soul and chuckled in delight when he saw her low tolerance for irritation as was shown to her from a memory of her sixth birthday party.

He left the protective shadows, willing himself to remain unseen as he crept around the desks and down the row to Jess, his red eyes gleaming in mischievous anticipation. As he came within five feet of her, he saw her shiver and wrapped her arms closer to her body. He could practically read the annoyance on her face in a look that plainly said "Damn that fucking air conditioner!"

If she only knew what he had up his sleeve…

He decided to start off light and raise a finger, pressing it lightly on the back of her neck and dragging it down to the collar of her gray top. A shiver went up her spine from his ghostly touch and he withdrew his finger as Jess spun around in her seat abruptly to glare at the blond boy sitting behind, looking completely innocent.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" she demanded loudly, as if forgetting exactly where she was.

The blond boy, Leopold Stotch, a.k.a. Butters, his soul told the Antichrist, only widened his eyes in surprise and stuttered, "M-m-me? I d-d-didn't d-do anything!"

"Don't fuck with me," she growled, her short amount of patience already exhausted. "You touched me!"

"Ms. Skidmore, what seems to be the problem?" the teacher asked, his body language screaming that he didn't want to be here today.

"Butters touched me!" she accused.

"Butters, stop touching people," the teacher sighed and went back to the board, not wanting to deal with teenagers and their angst.

Damien was snickering as Jess threw a glare at Butters, just daring him to try anything further before turning back around in her seat to be bored by the teacher again. He had gotten more of a reaction out of her than he had thought but another look into her soul told him that she had been having a bad day today and thus had no patience for anything.

Also, she was having that time of the month again and boy did it make her cranky.

Perfect.

He held his hand just above her head, close enough that he was almost touching her hair yet not close to her scalp. Yet.

Crooking his fingers, he began an erratic tapping on her skull that ended up with Jess Skidmore jumping out of her seat and shrieking. Oh how he loved to tease PMSing women…such easy targets.

"Who did _that_?" she roars, her face contorted into rage. "I swear—"

"Ms. Skidmore, please sit down and stop threatening the other students," the teacher said, not turning around. From the way that sounded, seemed like the young man had to deal with a situation like this every day or at least so often that he wasn't bothered enough to do anything other than a tired-sounding reprimand.

The students, meanwhile, were expressing various reactions to the sudden outburst. Some were staring up at her, gaping; others were having a laugh at her expense; then there were a select few who just looked annoyed, i.e. Bain. Damien only knew that last bit because he had taken the time to look at his object of interest.

As Jess Skidmore sat down again, Damien came to the conclusion that it was time to take off the kid gloves and really let her have it.

He crouched closer to the pissed off female, his face close to her neck, and took a whiff of her scent, delighting in the mortality of it. Then he smirked wickedly as he placed his pale hands firmly on her shoulders and slid his forked tongue out of his mouth…and continued to slide it out as its length seemed to be limitless.

Like a snake, the forked tongue moved with a mind of its own and trailed itself against her skin, slowly wrapping around her neck playfully. He felt the girl freeze up and the corners of his lips curved upwards as he prevented the girl from doing anything about her discomfort.

His tongue continued its trek, weaving up into her hair and then finding its way to an ear, dipping down into the auditory orifice and backing out to continue its explorations. And then his sucked his tongue right back in his mouth, the long, grey-colored organ flying back against her skin and leaving a trail of clear saliva in its wake, and he released her from his grip backing away as the girl exploded into fury.

He snickered, desperately trying to keep from losing his control and laughing out loud. His laughter soon turned to ash in his mouth as he noticed Butters staring right where he was crouched, his baby blue eyes wide in shock. He swore to himself and willed his invisibility to return but he knew the damage had been done as Butters blinked his eyes, still staring at where he was.

At least, he was until Jess's fist slammed into his forehead and soon chaos reigned. He pulled away from the action, doing his best not to touch anyone but his smirk never left his lips.

Once again though, his amusement was cut short as he looked up and caught Bain staring at where he was now, confusion evident on his face. However, it was the mortal boy's eyes that captured the Antichrist's attention. All day thus far, he had been getting glimpses of those eyes, seeing them brown one time then green the other. Now Bain was staring straight at him and he saw that one eyes was purely brown while the other was an intense green.

A little disturbed, he retreated into the closest shadow where he knew no one would find him, his joy at the chaos he had created gone. Bain was still staring at the place he had just been in but now there was a frown in place of his confusion.

Two people had seen him, to a degree so he believed. Damn it, he hadn't wanted that to happen just yet. He had an assignment he needed to complete and he didn't need the typical weirdness of this mountain town to screw it up!

He was going to have to play more carefully now.

* * *

Rhiannon Edwards: xXBeyondBirthdayXx

Kyra McCloud: -Beyond The Horizon-


	5. Bain of Humanity

Author's Note: Well I must say I'm a bit surprised by the reviews commenting on the scene with Damien last chapter. Didn't think it would get that much attention. Anyway, the call for OCs is still out, however there will come a point in this story where no more will be accepted, regardless of how many that have been sent in. So don't dawdle. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warnings: language

Bain of Humanity

The second lunch period had barely started but by then everyone had heard about the strange incident involving Jess Skidmore and Butters Stotch. While Jess complaining about someone touching her was odd by itself, Jess accusing Butters of being that toucher was a bit farfetched.

First of all, Butters was too much of a pussy to do such a thing and second, well, all the guys had been avoiding Jess all day because they had picked up on her having "that time of the month again."

Rhiannon couldn't figure it out herself just what was going on. At first she would say that Jess was overreacting a bit but then there was the fact that there was a wet trail around her neck, meaning someone had licked her.

But Butters? Why would he want to lick Jess when everyone knew that he had a bit of a crush on Alice Lufkin? Most of the girls agreed, those two were perfect for one another. Both had this naïve charm about them, two child-like innocents in a sea of rowdy, horny teenagers; oh Blimey, it was just too romantic to try and interfere with.

Still, even PMSing, Jess would have a good reason to go off the handle like she did. Oh Blimey, it was too early to be thinking of something so complex and it was practically noon! Wasn't the drama suppose to wait until two o'clock?

It was too bad that Christophe was out of town at the moment. He could have come up with a likely story as to what was going on. He was a mercenary after all and he had to think on his feet using all the information he had on him.

As she walked through the hallways, she felt a shiver run up her spine and she glanced warily at the dark form passing her in the hallway. Bain Cynis, oy. As Charlie had once punned, he was the bane of her existence, and the sad part was that she was the one to provoke him.

It had been her first day at high school and she was the new kid in town, so she thought, and anyway had only wanted to make some friends and try to survive another day. Things had been going well, to a degree, but then came her study hall and that was the first time she laid eyes on the psychopath himself. He had been reading _The_ _Exorcist_ at the time and she had been told to stay away from him.

She ultimately ignored the warning and come their foreign language class, she had rounded up enough guts to try and talk with him. What she got from him was an insult and a quick dismissal. Not one to not have the last word, she kissed him on the cheek and told him she loved him too.

Later that day, Bain had made an attempt on her life and the rest from there is history. If there was one thing she had learned about the boy, it was that he could hold a grudge for a long, _long_ time. Combine that with all the relational drama she had getting together with Christophe and a few kidnapping attempts made by none other than Bain, her first year at South Park High had been eventful, to say the least.

Thank God for Charlie. The girl hadn't been there one day and already she had pissed the dark boy off, enough that he seemed to have completely forgotten about her and focus all of his attention on her. At least that was what she thought and thus had to learn the hard way.

It was after an incident in the school involving Charlie and Bain that resulted in Bain going to the hospital when he made another attempt on her. He had gotten her alone and had dragged her off into the woods near Stark's Pond and he meant business this time. He didn't pull out a switchblade, no, he took out a large, metal clad hunting knife that he called Winslow and began using her for target practice.

Christophe and Charlie came to the rescue, just in time too, but she never really found out what happened afterwards since she was hustled away by her boyfriend leaving Charlie to duke it out with Bain.

So yeah, he had left an impression on her alright. Now she made sure that she wasn't alone or was with a group of friends. He was evil; there was no doubt about that in her mind.

Entering the classroom, she groaned to herself as she was reminded once again that Garrison was the English teacher and currently he was flipping through a TV guide. "Great," she muttered to herself, "another impromptu lesson."

"Excuse me, did you say something?" Mr. Garrison asked, not taking his eyes off the guide, startling the colorful girl.

Chuckling nervously, she rushed over to her seat. Damn it, when had his hearing gotten that good?

She hadn't been there for a minute when a girl in a hideous outfit, complete with a pink coat, sat down right beside her, giving her a bright smile. Long blonde hair trailed down her back in a plait with side-swept bangs framing her childish face, blue eyes practically glowing in excitement and anticipation.

"Hi Rhiannon!" the girl chirpped. "How y'all doin'?!"

"Just marvey, Katie," she drawled back with a grin forming, though a bit wary at the same time. "I just love the smell of bullshit in the afternoon."

"I'm awesome, thanks for asking!" Katie said right back, almost bouncing in her seat. "You hear about what happened to Jess?"

"Who hasn't?" she shrugged. "I bet everyone in town will know about it before school ends."

"I wish I could have been there," Katie sighed. "It must have been so exciting."

Rhiannon raised an eyebrow and looked skeptically at the blonde. "Has anyone ever told you that you have messed up priorities?"

"All the time," Katie shrugged. "Say, wanna hang out this weekend? Do ya want to? We can go out into the woods, climb a mountain or something?"

"Sorry but I'm busy," she hastily said, not in the mood to be going out into the wilderness. Besides, Christophe was suppose to be back by Friday. There was no way in hell she was going to miss him.

Katie was about to open her mouth but she was interrupted by the sound of the bell and immediately after that, Mr. Garrison stood up from his seat and began to speak.

"Okay class, today we're going to be talking about why Gerard Butler is a sexy beast and why you girls should do everything in your power to get into his pants. Now…"

---

Damien didn't like lunch time at this school. It was so loud and…well, loud. Yes he was used to the screams of agony but this was more like nails on a chalkboard except less shrill and more booming.

His fingers twitched and he wanted nothing more than to set fire to this place out of spite. It was because of this crowd that he had lost his target and due to all the sin and corruption, he was having trouble locating him.

Gluttony was certainly the most disgusting of the sins with its sickly greens and browns. Almost made _him_ want to vomit with its dull intensity.

At one table, he could see an average sized girl moping before her lunch while a slightly shorter girl was trying to comfort her. Hmm, the depressed girl was a McCormick, wasn't she? A cousin but a McCormick nonetheless. Aw, was she sad over her cousin's death? Pfft, he'd be back later, tomorrow at the latest. Let her be sad and let that other girl, let's see her soul…Robyn was it? Yes Robyn, let that Robyn girl try to cheer her up, he had no concern for her.

Plus sorrow wasn't the best coloring anyway. So selfless…

He sidestepped just in time as that Charlie girl appeared beside him and continued walking. Her stroll had a purpose and he watched after her, the girl heading to a table that conspicuously had the object of his interest sitting there. It was plain as day the animosity between those two but he wanted to see what was going to come from this…

---

Bain looked up from his peas with a slight scowl as Charlotte took a seat right beside him, looking straight into his eyes with her brown ones.

"What do you want?" he snipped, tightening his grip on his plastic fork. He remembered a time once when they used to have the metal kind and he couldn't help but wonder why they had changed them for plastic knockoffs.

"Do I always need something?" Charlotte shot back at him, jesting.

"Women always do," he replied back, setting his eating utensil down and placing his elbows on the table, steepling his finger in front of his face. "If you could, you'd bleed all of us men out until we were soulless husks and then still demand more. So selfish."

"Whatever," Charlotte rolled her eyes.

He narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't perhaps want to find out about that the bitch on Def Con 1 and what was happening to make her snap? It's all those morons here are talking about."

"Who cares," Charlotte shrugged. "That shit happens."

"Oh, I see, because she's female she automatically gets excused for her behavior?" he sneered. "You go through with that double standard? And people say _I'm_ sexist."

"You're the only one who thinks like that," Charlotte retorted.

"Pity," he sighed. "Leopold is innocent anyway."

"Who?" Charlotte blinked, giving him a look.

"Leopold," he repeated slowly, "everybody calls him 'Butters.'"

"And why aren't you at the office telling them that?" she asked, pausing. "Oh wait, you're an asshole. Never mind."

"Cute," he drawled. "I guess then you wouldn't be interested to hear that there was someone else in that classroom?"

"Not really," she shrugged.

"Simpleminded whore," he chided, "the fact that Leopold was set up doesn't bother you? There's that double standard again, I suppose."

"Why do you keep bringing it up, like a girl?" she sneered back at him, shutting him up.

He glared at her, whatever little patience he had had gone up in smoke. To think she was comparing him to acting like a weak-willed cunt? He flipped his wrist outward, the handle of his switchblade sliding up into his hand from his coat sleeve, snapping the blade open as he brought it down harshly into the table, his glare intensifying.

"Would you care to repeat that, my worthless little bitch?" he growled, glaring menacingly, ignoring the property damage he had caused to the table.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes and she grabbed at his arm, pulling him towards her and punching him with her other hand. He stumbled backwards and toppled, chair and all, onto the floor, his back slamming into the hard tiles without mercy.

Snarling, he shoved himself back up, his hands grabbing onto the table to help haul himself up, and he glared up at the bitch that had assaulted him. Oh how he wanted nothing more to do than to slit her fucking throat.

He noticed that a good amount of the lunching students were watching them and he glared at them balefully until they all looked away. He returned his glare to Charlotte and stood himself upright, grabbing the switchblade's handle and pulling the weapon out of the table, slipping it out of sight.

"One of these days, cunt," he hissed, managing to wipe the smug smile off her lips. "Daddy isn't here to save you, Jackie boy is long gone, and that French piece of shit won't be there to rescue you again, mark my words."

"Can't you come up with anything better?" she replied.

He opened his mouth to retort when something caught his eye. There, over there, was this transparent, black figure, the same one he had noticed in the previous period crouching beside the PMSing slut. Yes, he recognized that blacker than black hair and those red eyes that held a malevolent aura to them. Twice in the classroom and now here at lunch, what were the odds?

As quickly as he had spotted it, the transparent, black figure faded away, leaving nothing in its wake but the damage had been done. He didn't know what to make of it but he knew that twice was coincidence and three times was conspiracy.

He had a new puzzle to fiddle with now.

Going back to his "conversation," he said, "I'd like to, really, but I doubt you'd be able to comprehend what I said." Moving away, he added with a sneer, "Blame your family for that though. Tell me, does your mother still groom you and throw her feces around when frightened?"

Charlotte's mood switched from pleasant and mildly irritating to full, blown out rage as she practically leapt over the table to get at him. Remembering the last time he had insulted her family, he was quicker this time to duck out of the way and weave his smaller body into the crowd of students as Charlotte tried to pursue him, screaming out obscenities in his wake.

He never got tired of provoking her; it had become a recreational hobby, truly.

However, he wasn't in the mood to get his face bashed in again and so hid out in the men's restroom, knowing that she wouldn't come for him in there. That was mainly because she wouldn't think to look for him there in the first place plus the manly stench in here usually repelled those of the so-called fairer gender.

And now to bide his time until the bell…

---

The sensation of wrath among all the gluttony was a life saver, one that the Antichrist could appreciate. Out of all the sins, wrath was his favorite and he didn't know why.

Regardless, he left the lunchroom and tracked his quarry down in the restroom he had holed up in and my what a change that was.

There was a massive difference being in the company of a sinner and a commandment breaker and all those who dwelled in Hell preferred the latter over the former. It was like comparing the Black Plague to the Common Cold, differences that were as stark as night and day.

The smell of pride wafted through the air and he located its source in one of the bathroom stalls, concluding that Bain was holing up in it. Noticing that there were only two stalls and that the empty one was handicapped, he smirked as he entered the empty stall and locked it, his smirk widening as the door to the restroom opened and hurried feet rushed in.

The stall door shook as the teen in need tried to barge in and there was a groan of misery heard.

Not having the heart to give the boy what he wanted, he decided to try to rub it in the boy's face but how? An idea popped into his head and when he spoke, his normally high pitched voice had changed to reflect that of the fat boy he knew as Eric Cartman.

"No room at the end, Virgin Mary."

He struggled to hold back his snicker at the wail of despair that sounded though he was a bit apprehensive when there was a loud bang but relaxed as hurried footsteps left the room, possibly to find an unoccupied one.

Oh how he loved being evil.

It was then he noticed just how _quiet_ the room had become. Sure, in the physical realm it had been quiet, but he was meaning the spiritual part of it. The boy in the next stall had gone completely quiet, his soul not radiating any sin and his stench not hinting at any of his thoughts. It was a complete blank and the only reason he knew there was someone there was because he could hear the faint sound of breathing.

Then it hit him. His impersonation of the mortal Eric Cartman had been spot on but it would have been perfect if he had adjusted it so that in resembled the puberty scarred voice that all teenagers had. He sounded more like the snot-nosed grader schooler that fat bastard had been instead of the teenager the fat bastard had become!

He hadn't thought that his quarry would pick up on that that quickly, especially since he himself had missed it. He heard the shuffling of feet as the boy in the next stall began moving, the sounds of his progress stopping right in front of his stall.

He remained standing, staring down the door impassively, daring his quarry to come at him. It wouldn't be as if he was visible…

Silence reigned for about a minute longer until Damien heard the mortal boy turn on his heel and step out of the restroom, leaving him alone. Immediately, the tension in his body vanished and he released a silent sigh. Wait, why had he been tense? He was the Antichrist! He had nothing to fear from a mere mortal!

Perhaps it would be wiser to stay away from his prey for a while, let the other get used to not being followed by an invisible stalker while soaking in all the sin the students in this building were emitting like fumes of pestilence.

Hmm, speaking of Pestilence, he made a mental note to himself to visit the guy when he went back under. He hadn't spoken to that horseman in nearly a decade. With all the modern day miracles of medication, sanitization, and the ever evolving human immune system, the poor guy had been nearly put out of work and those chronic illnesses could only do so much for him.

The annoying bell rang again and he gritted his teeth, grinding them together. Well, maybe he could do something about that bell before school got out. That should at least get him his destruction fix for the day.

* * *

Katelyn "Katie" Blaire: **SilverMoonlightAngel**


	6. Predators of the Night

Author's Note: Interest in the story going down? Well maybe what you need is something South Park-esque. Perhaps the description at the beginning of this chapter will give you a fix. At least tell me if it sounds like something Matt and Trey would come up with. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any celebrities that might be mentioned.

Warning: language, mention of death

Predators of the Night

When the final bell for the day, the one bell that students actually anticipated with joy, didn't ring, confusion and the typical South Park reaction occurred.

That is to say the teachers overreacted and refused to let anybody leave the classrooms until the final bell rang while the student body itself developed a contagious case of restless leg syndrome. Conditioned to always let loose when that final bell rang, students were shaking like Tweek Tweak with repressed energy and some even began to react like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman.

Meanwhile, in the main offices, the staff was trying multiple methods to release the students, from announcing that school was over and that students could go home to using a different kind of bell. None of it worked as the teachers became increasingly paranoid and thought that they were being evaluated or something similar and that whatever test they were being given was more important than releasing the students.

Outside the school, school buses stopped and waited for their high school cargo only to get none and refusing to move, not letting any of the grade and middle schoolers off. As the sun descended to the horizon, parents arrived to find out what was going on and so had police officials who thought that they had a hostage situation on their hands.

Eventually, they brought in Bruce Willis to try and defuse the situation, which turned out not to be the smartest idea as the ages old actor had flashbacks to his Die Hard days and well, half the school was nearly demolished.

It was by midnight when the students finally emerged from their captivity, all looking gaunt and completely exhausted but not the worst for wear. The same thing couldn't be said for Bruce Willis who had gotten locked in a janitor's closet and inhaled too much chemical fumes.

Let's all have a yippie kai yay, motherfucker and a moment of silence.

And throughout it all, Damien laughed his ass off, always surprised by how stupid these people were and what absurd measures they went to. In fact, just thinking about it made him burst out in laughter, something that hadn't happened to him since…well since ever. The closest he got was during some torture session with some so-called evil mortal but that had been so long ago that he couldn't recall specifics.

Eh, probably wasn't anything important.

So there he was, strolling down one of the country roads around the small town, bursting out into chuckles every now and then, no caring if someone saw or heard him. He was the fucking Antichrist; who the hell in their right mind would mess with him?

That's what he thought when he found himself stumbling across a living McCormick, one who had died earlier that day and was staring him down with unusually clear blue eyes that weren't clouded by lust or perversion. It was a bit discerning to see those eyes trained on him but he straightened up and stared back with amusement at the immortal mortal.

It was Kenny McCormick who spoke first, muffled by his hood of course, and he cut straight to the chase. "What are you doing here, Damien?"

He smirked back. "I'm on an assignment from my father. That's all you will hear now go on about your way before I change my mind." He internally winced and scowled at his high pitched voice but knew there was nothing for it.

Kenny pulled off the hood of his parka, revealing messy blond hair and a serious demeanor. "After all these years, your voice hasn't deepened?" he asked skeptically. "Guess your balls haven't dropped either."

"Think what you may, mortal, but know you are treading on thin ice," the Antichrist warned, no humor in his voice as he was already pondering about how to go about killing the mortal…again.

"Whatever, I just want to tell you to stay out of our school," the blond said. "We have enough shit going on in there without you adding to it. I mean, c'mon! Bruce Willis?! You got McClain killed man! That's not cool."

"Oh, he showed up before you left?" Damien asked idly.

"That and Stan told me what happened during school," Kenny replied. "I may not know what you're supposed to be up here doing but do it and go back to Hell."

"I'll do what I need to do at my own pace," Damien spat back. "I don't need _you_ hovering over my shoulder and holding my hand like a child. Now remove yourself from my presence before I decide to make you a mortal firework."

Kenny narrowed his eyes at him but said no more and he pulled his hood back off and stomped on past him. Damien was more than sure that the other had flipped him off behind his back but he didn't really care. Just one more sin to add to this town's repertoire.

Speaking of that, back to the matter at hand, what he had come up here to do. Where was he to begin? He had caught a wiff of his target when he had first arrived but thanks to all the distractions of the mortal world, he had lost track of it. Perhaps he shouldn't have spent so much time at that high school fooling around.

But how could he have not stayed around. So much sin and the fact there were at least two commandment breakers in that building alone, it was so intoxicating.

However, a distraction was a distraction and what did it say about him being the Antichrist if he was so easily led astray? Trying to live up to all the hype and expectations wasn't easy, even for an immortal like him. Bringing in ten thousand years of darkness, damning all the nonbelievers (i.e. anyone not Mormon), ushering in the era where his father would rule the mortal realm, all of that was expected out of him.

How the hell was he suppose to do that anyway? It wasn't as easy as the Book of Revelations implied it was. And his father was too busy engaging in homosexual relations to give him any help or even a suggestion of what he could do. He didn't even know when this was all suppose happen!

It was enough to piss him off and—

A nearby tree suddenly burst into flames, surprising him enough that he realized that he had just lost control of his powers, something that hadn't happened since he had first come into them. Then again, in Hell he could get away with losing control of his powers and no one would reprimand him for it. In the mortal world, his father had given him explicit instructions to keep a rein on his powers at all times and not to lose control.

That could possibly be because some evangelicals could see him and try to exorcise him but he loved to see them try! So he had a little slip up right now, so what? He had a job to do and now it was time to do it.

Time to up the ante.

His red eyes began to glow and before him the earth parted, hellfire bellowing out and howls of agony screeching out to the dark night sky. A dark, gnarled paw ripped itself, razor sharp claws clutching onto the snow covered ground and pulling a large muscled body out of the depths of hell.

Damien grinned wickedly, his teeth eerily white as they shown in the night. Before him emerged one of the legions of hellhounds, demon beasts specifically bred and raised to be the best hunters and trackers in all the known universe. It's body was disproportionately shaped as its forearms were heavily muscled while its hind legs were small and weak looking. It's body was engorged and stank of vomit and the remains of food long since devoured. It's head was tiny yet its snout enormous and revealing rows of jagged, sharp teeth that could easily cleave through a mortal's torso.

As the portal to Hell closed behind the unholy beast, Damien chuckled as he petted the demon dog, fingers digging into black fur. "Come, my hound," the Antichrist commanded, "let us find where out fledgling demons were killed and see if we can't pick up a trail? _Adelante_!"

The hellhound unleashed an unholy howl and leapt forward, pausing only to sniff the area before setting off. Damien followed behind shortly, his red eyes gleaming with malice and malevolence.

Kenny was not pleased. It wasn't from the fact that he had died earlier that day, which still sucked by the way, but from what he had seen mere seconds before he had died and had only confirmed later that day.

Now, whenever he went down to Hell, he usually stayed away from the individual who had turned him into a duck-billed platypus when he was eight. Plus, the kid had been a bit freaky, not only just up on Earth but down in the place of eternal suffering.

Now, he could deal with Satan, and had on various occasions, with all his relationship problems and the fact that he was the leader of the armies and darkness and all. The red lug was very knowledgeable despite sometimes acting like a sixteen year old girl and had different points of view on many different issues. He could safely say that he was friends with the Dark Lord and not give two shits about what anybody else thought.

Now Satan's son was a different matter. Damien was obviously buying into his own press, something that Satan had lamented on different occasions.

What, you think he can't use the word "lamented?" He's not some dumb redneck ya know! It's not like he checked out his own cousin to see how well she was "developing" and…

Wait, what was he thinking about again? Oh yeah, Damien!

Yeah, that dark clad boy had progressively grown more and more evil over the years, speak not of the fact that he was a sadist to boot! Just seeing him down there in his element was enough to have him running to the lake of fire for safety.

But now he had only one question on his mind: what the Hell was Damien doing up here on Earth?!

Sure, Satan had told him about something happening up here and that Damien had volunteered to go up himself to check it out, but Kenny couldn't figure it out. According to what he had been able to find out, Damien had begged his father to let him go up and that made him wonder just what Damien was really up to. It wasn't as if he had been so open like he was when he came here demanding to meet Jesus that first time. Why was he hiding more this time around and why was he hanging around at the school?

Who cared about some rookie demons getting themselves killed up here anyway? Couldn't they just pull themselves back together if that story about being torn about apart by a pack of wolves was true? If he didn't know better, and since when had he ever known better, he would've thought that maybe Damien was the one responsible for the deaths.

There was something about this that didn't seem right.

If it wasn't Damien, then who could it be, he had to take that possibility into account. For what purpose would someone have to kill those possession victims while they were still possessed? Damn, this was something for greater minds than his own to think about! Where was Kyle when you needed him? He wasn't dead since he hadn't once seen his missing friend down in Hell so where the hell, no pun intended, was he?! Stan was on the verge of going Goth again and—

"Kenny! You're back!"

He looked up to see Tori standing in front of him, looking shocked. The "o" that was her mouth soon changed into a wide ass grin and she abandoned the skateboard she had parked under her to run over and grab him, burying his poor blond head into her…chest…

Oh God it was so comfy…

"You were so quick this time!" Tori exclaimed. "I thought you weren't going to come back until the morning, like you always do!"

He blinked stupidly as he was pulled back, staring blankly at her for a moment before her words came to him. Seeing how dark it was, a thought occurred to him and he frowned.

"Hey, aren't you suppose to be home? What are you doing up so late?"

Tori rolled her eyes at that. "As if you haven't done it before."

"You're not trying to pickpocket again, are you?"

"First of all, I haven't got the chance yet!" she retorted before he clapping her hands over her mouth in realization of what she just said. Shrugging as the thought occurred to her that the cat was out of the bag, she dropped her hands and continued, "The teachers kept us in school. There was this whole thing with the police too and somehow Bruce Willis got here. I think he's dead, though."

"They kept you in until midnight?" he asked skeptically.

"You know adults," she said. "They overreact to everything here."

"I'll give you that," he sighed, "but c'mon, I'll take you home."

"As long as you stay too and don't get killed," she agreed, walking back to get her skateboard.

The mortal's hands twitched and balled into fists, only to release and then return into the aggressive hold. Desire seemed to flood the body, demanding satisfaction immediately and refusing to wait longer.

But the will was powerful as well and battled against the desire to at least temporarily tame it until such time as when it could be satisfied. Now was not the time and despite the surrounding eyes being tired, the previous events would allow them to notice if the mortal was heading off somewhere with intent.

No, timing was everything and suspicion could never be afforded. Waiting was the only options but it was so hard. Perhaps tomorrow, er later, they could go hunting for prey and—no, no that wasn't a good time, damn it!

Forty-eight hours, at least, would be required until it was safe again. Maybe if they were lucky, that could be whittled down to forty or thirty-six… It seemed so far off though; they didn't know how long they would be able to last without a new slab of meat presented.

Even though waiting was required, it didn't mean they couldn't at least plan what they would do. Let's see…restraint was definitely a necessity. Blood? Oh yes, the fix this time would require being there and shedding some blood. Heh, they could even take their time with this one, as long as they were careful. They had the equipment or at least knew where to get the equipment necessary.

But what else? Oh, there were so many possibilities to be had that deciding on which one was more challenging that solving a Rubik Cube. A tough puzzle this one was but they were sure that they would figure out what to do when the time came.

Who knew, perhaps they would play it by ear and see what came up. So long as they didn't get caught, there was any and all possibilities under the sun to do. Yes, the fictional Harry Morgan had it correct that the first rule was to never be caught. They hadn't been or even had suspicion yet from the general public.

Hmm, what about a daylight kidnapping? If Theodore Robert Bundy could get away with it in a busy parking garage, they should have no trouble doing it in the middle of Colorado. Risky, yes, but the payoff could be better. Hell, they could do another Lake Sammamish if done correctly and get two for the price of one!

No, wait, what were they thinking?! Just because Bundy was able to get away with it didn't mean that they would have the same odds as Bundy did. This was a different time, a different world and the rules were different. It'd be best to stick with the tried and true methods already practiced.

Above all, never get caught; they had to remember that.

After all, it wasn't as if they had picked up on the trail of the latest one.

Or any of the others.


	7. Get a Clue

Author's Note: As of this point on, no more OCs will be taken. DefectCriminal as been very generous and right now, I feel as if I have the right amount. Now, to one ShadowMajin, the hellhound isn't Zuul, goddamn it! For the rest of you, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Get a Clue

Miles and miles away from the town of South Park, Damien's hound had led him to a small vale of woods, one that more would pass over or ignore without a second thought. Damien raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if perhaps the killings had been planned out instead of being spur of the moment or random.

If so, he was dealing with a crafty prey. Let's see if he couldn't pick up a scent and head off from there.

The hellhound led him deeper into the wood and he followed after the unholy beast, trusting that the creature wouldn't lead him astray. If it did, well it knew the consequences.

The beast stopped by a large tree unexpectedly and howled up into the night sky. Coming to the beast's side, he placed a hand on its head, a signal to stop and he examined the small area in which he had been led to.

It was faint, but if he looked hard enough, he could see the worn away stains of blood against the dark bark and he knew that he had found something. He just didn't know what precisely it was but was determined to take it as a sign.

He reached out and felt the stained bark, using his powers to try and summon the memories of terror that had more than likely occurred here but he found that too much time had passed and that it was a dead end. He let his hand fall slightly but stopped it as it came into contact with something.

Holding his other hand up, he ignited a flame in it to light the place up so that he could get a better look and lo and behold, he saw something. You had to be looking closely and if he hadn't been touching it, he wouldn't have been able to find it again.

Seemingly wrapped around the tree, he saw what looked like a wire to him though it lacked a metallic quality to it. So it had to be something else. An experimental pull on it reveal that it was tough and wouldn't break to easily and a closer look revealed that it too was covered in blood.

Then he spotted the tattered remains of what looked like cloth and bits of flesh.

Something or someone had been tied here. The story of a fledgling demon being torn apart by a pack of wolves rang in his head and he determined that he was at that exact spot where the crime had happened. But how had the wolves been attracted here? Magic was a rare commodity for mortals to possess nowadays so that explanation didn't make sense.

The mystery deepened and while he was intrigued, he was also put off by it. While he liked challenges, such as figuring out what a person hated and torturing them with it, he in no way had the patience or knowhow to investigate a murder. The subject of forensics was beyond even his immortal mind so things like DNA, fingerprints, and any other tiny things that could create a path to a suspect.

He didn't even know that he was contaminating the scene of the crime, leaving evidence of himself there that might be picked up later.

However, just because he didn't know anything about forensics didn't mean that he couldn't get those who did involved but he highly doubted that calling them up with his kind of voice would produce anything. In fact, he just might become the prime suspect!

But he could use someone the police didn't and wouldn't suspect. The faint traces of a suitable tool formed in his mind and while he couldn't give a name to the person, he knew he had seen her walking the hallways of that high school and knew that she wasn't the type for monotony.

It wouldn't be a far cry to lure her out here and get her to discover this place.

Then all he would have to do is wait and see what came of it.

He looked over to the hellhound, prepared to send it back down into the depths of Hell as he had no further use of it for this night but noticed to his ire that the creature was several yards away from him, sniffing at something. Growling, he stood up and made his way over to the beast, wondering what in the whole known universe had caught the dumb animal's attention.

Stopping, he nearly destroyed the hellhound as he saw it was sniffing at a rock. You have got to be shitting him.

He bent down to snatch the rock away and as his fingers made contact with it, he froze. This didn't feel like a rock; he would recognize the feel of this object any day.

Picking up the object, he turned it over and his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Hello…"

* * *

As if this was a crappy sitcom or a cartoon made out of construction paper, the students of South Park High School found themselves back at school which retained nothing of the chaos and destruction that had occurred only a few hours before. How they were able to fix the place up so quickly was unknown as the school was infamous for being stingy with money.

Craig Tucker, though, had gotten used to the weirdness of this town while at the same time wondering why this town couldn't be Anywhere, USA. Why couldn't they have problems like a busted water main or snow days or something ordinary happen? Just the thought of that pissed him off enough that he raised his middle finger up as was second nature to him by now. What could it hurt anyway?

"Ey! Did you just flip me off Craig?!"

Apparently it could hurt a lot.

"What assmuncher?" he drawled as he shifted his over to the fatass himself, Cartman glaring at him angrily. Eh, what else was new?

"I swear to God Craig, you flip me off again—EY! You son of a bitch!"

Opps. It was unconscious, really.

The fatass charged at him but the raven haired teen just watched him dispassionately. At the last minute, he stepped to the side but kept his foot out, tripping Cartman and sending the tub of lard to the ground.

He hadn't even needed to take his hands out of his pockets.

"Later asswipe," he said as he walked away from the fatass, this time knowingly flipping him off, ignoring the other's blustering.

He entered the school at a sedate pace, just staring ahead and ignoring everybody around him except for those that got in his way. Either he was stopped and let them pass or he moved to a side and walked around them, whichever one matched his mood at the second. He didn't bother going to his locker because he didn't feel like it and instead trudged into his first class of the day and took his seat, staring at the board boredly.

Hmm, he wondered what they were going to serve for lunch today…

Beside him, Jess sat down, looking pissed but then again, after getting maybe six hours of sleep, anybody would be in a bad mood. The girl was giving off these vibes that warned people away but he amazingly wasn't affected by them. Maybe it was because he didn't care.

"What crawled up your butt?" he found himself asking. Hmm, maybe he did care.

"I have two weeks of detention because of Butter of all people," Jess growled out, "and I have a really bad cramp, I think you know where. Just…just keep the talk to a minimum, okay?"

Craig merely raised an eyebrow, taking note of the slight red under her eyes. Was that a blush or exertion? Oh well, he'd respect her, for now, and leave her alone for a bit. It wasn't as if it was his problem anyway and why go inviting them like some guys he didn't like who made him once go to Peru for some panflute shit.

"Did…did you just flip me off?" Jess asked incredulously.

Huh, well what do you know?

* * *

Yesterday had been a bit nostalgic for Stan and he had found his eyes always shifting to the side to look at a matching green pair that weren't there. It served to reinforce that Kyle wasn't there to share the experience of living in South Park anymore.

It was heart wrenching, to a degree, and it had sort of incapacitated him while all the usual craziness was going on. It took a hallucinating Bruce Willis to get him to stand up and put an end to the situation, finding out that some_thing_ had damaged the bell system which had started this whole mess.

Fixing it was out of the question so he did his best and used Pip to mimic the noise, which the French Melvin actually managed to do, amazingly. As soon as the situation resolved itself, he let himself fade into the background and went home to mope some more.

Next thing he knew, his mother was waking him up for school and now he was back in this hellhole again when he should have been in bed sleeping the day away instead. And why the hell were they having school anyway? He could see Bruce Willis' body right there! There was foam and everything leaking from his mouth and his eyes were rolled up in the back of his head! It was insane! Wait, who was he kidding, it was South Park. Kenny died on a regular basis and no one batted an eye.

Speaking of Kenny, his second closest friend was taking the seat right next to him and was giving him a serious look. Oh no, that couldn't be good. He should be used to this by now but really, when you've lived through alien abductions, a war against Canada, NAMBLA, Chinpokomon, Mecha Streisand, stupid parents, the Death Camp of Tolerance, Christmas in Canada, and delivered the one video of Lord of the Rings back to the video store, nothing else should really be a surprise.

Sadly, that wasn't true as even a veteran like him of freaky shit could be surprised again and again and again and again…

Nothing, though, could prepare him for what Kenny told him.

"Damien's back."

"Who?"

Well, almost nothing. Who the hell was Damien and why was he so important that Kenny had to look so serious?

"You know," Kenny said slowly, "Damien, Son of the Devil, came to school a few years ago and started a fight between Jesus and Satan, and turned me into a duck-billed platypus. That Damien."

Oh. OH. Wait, Damien was back?!

"Oh Jesus," he swore, nearly letting his head fall onto his desk. "Not again. Can't we have just one time where things are normal? Is that _too_ much to ask for?!"

"Yes," Kenny replied without missing a beat.

"Okay. Okay, what brings him back?" Stan sighed. "He's not going to try and bring about the end of the world, is he?"

"No, it's something about finding a murderer or something," Kenny shrugged. "He wasn't really clear about it to me and I didn't really understand the explanation Satan gave me. Or maybe it was that weed I smoked that made me lick balls. I don't remember anymore."

"What else is new?" Stan asked, not really surprised by what his friend told him.

"I open mouth kissed a cow when I got drunk at that party last week," Kenny said. "At least, that's what everybody has been telling me. I still think it was some really ugly, really fat chick."

"No Kenny, it was a cow, I was there," Stan deadpanned.

"Oh, so you remember that but not anything else, huh?" Kenny grumbled crossing his arms.

"Hey, a lot of weird shit happens here!" Stan defended. "In-between the end of the world and our parents over exaggerating everything, it's not real easy to remember something from that long ago."

"So that would explain why you don't remember half the girls' names?" Kenny asked slyly.

"Look who's talking," Stan shot back, "you memorized the girls by the size of their boobs."

"What's your point?" Kenny asked, eyes narrowing.

"You had a crush on that one girl with the huge boobs and that was because…well, because she had huge boobs!" Stan said.

"You're going to have to be more specific," Kenny said. "Which girl with the huge boobs? Is it size D point eight or is it size D point ten? Size D point five?"

"It's the one that follows Cartman everywhere," Stan stated.

"Oh yeah, size D point eleven and a half!" Kenny exclaimed. Blinking, he then asked, "And where are you going with this?"

"You just proved my point," Stan said.

"Really Stan, you need to grow up," Kenny huffed.

* * *

Siryn had a feeling that today was going to be a good day. Sure, she started off yesterday with the same feeling and as it turned out the day became shitty but why couldn't she be a bit optimistic? What were the odds Bruce Willis would come to their school and go on a rampage again?

Anyway, she didn't meet Eric Cartman in front of the school, so that was a bonus. She hated the way how he would always pick on her and call her a Jew werewolf. What had she ever done to him anyway? It was like he hated her from day one; he'd even sought her out like he was some kind of hunting dog then called her a Jew to her face before complaining loudly that one was already too many.

So what if her family was Jewish? What was the big deal? It wasn't like they killed Jesus or something.

Anyway, there she was back in the refurbished school, putting in the combination to her locker to get her books for first period, humming a tune to herself. Just as she opened her locker's door, something slammed into it, startling her.

Moving the hanging piece of metal out of the way, she felt embarrassment creeping up on her as there stood Clyde Donovan, the number one cutest boy in school. At least, he was the cutest boy in school in her book.

"Ow," the boy said, blinking as tears welled up in his eyes, his arm hastily wiping them away.

"Oh! I'm sorry Clyde!" she gasped as she closed her locker without getting her books in favor of tending to the boy that was her crush. "I didn't see you there! Are you all right?"

"It's o—" Clyde began only to be cut off.

"Did I break something?! Did I break your nose?" she asked, jumping to conclusions. "Oh I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!"

"That's al—"

"I didn't mean to hit you with the door!" she cried out, almost on the verge of hysteria. "Oh, I hope I didn't leave a scar! Did I leave a scar? Oh, I am so sorry!"

"Just calm do—" Clyde tried to say.

"Do I need to take you to the nurse?!" she asked. "A doctor?! Hell's Pass?!"

Just then, Eric Cartman walked by and took in the scene before laughing his ass off, capturing both the teens' attentions. "Hope you have a silver bullet with ya, Clyde!" he called out, voice colored with laughter. "She might have rabies and try to bite you!"

"Shut it fatass!" she screamed at him, her face red with anger and humiliation. Of all the times that fatass had to come by and taunt her, it had to be in front of Clyde!

"I think there's a new moon coming up!" Cartman howled as he walked away. "We might finally have the chance to cure you, werewolf! Ha ha ha!"

Had she taken a look at herself, Siryn would have realized that she resembled the mythical creature that the fat boy always accused her of. Her lips were parted enough to show her abnormally sharp teeth were clenched tightly to one another and her fingers were curled like talons, her sharp nails not helping her image at all.

That's when Clyde came in and said, "Ignore him. He's just trying to get under your skin like he used to do to Kyle. Plus, he'll go crazy if you ignore him; we all did it once and he thought he was dead."

She took a deep breath, her crush's words reaching her and quelling her irritation for the time being. That still didn't mean she didn't want to tear Cartman apart and litter his guts all over the hallways but you can't have everything you want, unfortunately.

"You okay now?" Clyde asked, watching her with such concern that her heart fluttered.

"I'm better," she admitted, her reddened face lightening so that it was more of a pink blush.

"You sure?" the boy asked.

Feeling a bit irritated but not wanting to snap at the boy, she said, "Yeah, just, I just can't stand him! What does he have against me anyway?!"

"He just hates Jews," Clyde shrugged. "Anyway, have you seen Skittles around? I need to…uh, er, ask her about something about class."

"Not yet," she answered, really beginning to calm down now. Still, why was there that pause when he asked if she had seen Rhiannon? Wasn't that crush of his over her suppose to be gone?

"Oh, well have you seen Lucky?" he asked, much to her displeasure and slight despair.

She could feel her hear sink at that name but she was determined not to let the name of the Day girl get to her. "No, I haven't," she managed to say without her voice cracking. "But I'll tell her that…you're looking for her," she gulped towards the end, not wanting to such a thing.

"You will? Thanks!" Clyde beamed at her and her heart fluttered. Oh, if only he would give her that look more often.

And as he walked away from her, she let her body lean against the lockers and sighed deeply. It just wasn't fair sometimes that the one person you wanted always had their attention somewhere else. She wanted nothing more than for Clyde Donovan to take her in his arms and just hold her, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

Yeah, she had read one too many romance books but what girl didn't?

Still, one can always hope.


	8. Boys being Boys

Author's Note: Wow, I thought people were already losing interest in this. Y'all sure proved me wrong. Anyway, much to my surprise, DefectCriminal has taken a bit of inspiration from this fic and her latest chapter gets into it. If you don't know what it is, check out Chapter 5 of this story then go read the latest chapter of "I Used to Dig Holes." It's a lesson in character development, people. And Kentucky Fried Chicken. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Boys being Boys

His return to South Park had been swift and hurried. By now, school would have started for the mortals, so he was a bit late in his timetable. He was a man…Antichrist with a mission and he had no time for games or messing around with all the sinning souls that surrounded him, much as he wanted to.

Business before pleasure was always how he dealt with things, plus if you got the important stuff out of the way first, then you can have that much more time to mess with, or molest, these walking, talking suckers.

So intent on his frame of mind that he paid no attention to the building he had entered or the change in décor that surrounded him. He also seemed to ignore the stares he was getting from the students all around him, whispers filling the void in his wake. He heard a different bell ring through the hallways and he thought to himself that they must have replaced the one he had wrecked yesterday. Reaching the classroom he knew his prey was suppose to be in, he impulsively barged into the room but came to a stop immediately.

In front of him was a small room of little kids, toddlers practically, and in the midst of them stood a black canister that had a light on the front and the head of a scarred woman settled on top of it, her burned visage frozen in time.

_Beep_ came the sound from the burned woman as the light lit up for a second, asking a single question.

_Yes?_

Damn it, he was in the prekindergarten class. Again.

"Goddamnit!" he thundered and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and escaping the elementary school.

Twenty minutes later, he found himself in front of the high school again but this time he made sure it was the right building before he went into it. So perhaps he was a bit too focused on the matter at hand; well, he'd just slow it down a bit and think before he acted again. Yeah, that was the ticket!

No sooner had entered the building did that _annoying_ bell that he had thought he had destroyed the day before rang and suddenly he was engulfed into the stream of students and pushed down the hallways against his will. The noise of the students was practically deafening and as he found himself struggling against the "current" of the moving students, he thought he spotted a pair of different colored eyes stare at him but he couldn't be too sure about that as they were gone as soon as they had appeared.

However, he had more important things, such as finding his tool, damn it!

Finally, he shoved himself out of the moving crowd, ignoring a "Watch it freak!" aimed at him and retreated into a shadow cast by a row of lockers. His red eyes glared malevolently at the stream of mortals and for the moment, all his thoughts were consumed with fire, brimstone, and torture.

Then a flash of yellow and pink caught his eye and he found he had to look at it. Well, well, well, looks like he needn't look any further for his tool. The blonde mortal in the pink colored coat bounced merrily down the hallway and he snuck up from behind her, not doing anything as he followed her to her next class, peering deeply into her soul.

He passed all the sins, though there was a surprising lack of them on this soul, and looked further, searching for something only he knew he would recognize. And there it was, the yearning for adventure, the drive of wanderlust, he had found his tool, undoubtedly.

It wouldn't take much, he knew, but a little push in the direction he wanted her to go wouldn't be too hard. In fact, he just had to manipulate emotions that were already there, begging to be used.

Yes, little Katelyn Blaire would serve him well.

* * *

He didn't like it, that much he knew. Seeing that dark clad boy in the hallway, going with the flow of the crowd, unnerved Bain. He knew he recognized the form; he had seen vague images of it yesterday, in the classroom, in the cafeteria.

He had to find out what was up and a look around gave him a potential well of information that he wasn't going to be passing up.

It was a short, tanned skinned girl, an oddity in South Park as most people were of paler skin tones, with short brown hair that lightened almost to a blond where her bangs were. A popular student, yes; a well-liked student, definitely; very likely to be noticed missing, absolutely.

But she would know more about the going-ons in this piece of shit school than he would and she was right there. Taking note that he had a place to not only intercept but also hide her away, he gave no second thought as he marched towards the unaware girl.

It was only a little funny how "unlucky" she was about to be.

She hadn't seen him coming but she definitely knew something was happening as he grabbed her roughly and shoved her into the nearby boy's restroom, locking the door behind him and slamming her into a tiled wall, her multicolored scarf trailing after them like a wisp.

Pissed off, green eyes glared at him and there was no doubt that he knew she would try to struggle but he was already on it. It was such a fortunate thing he had brought Winslow with him to school today…

Instead of a dark-colored switchblade that he carried "recreationally," he slid out a large, metal clad hunting knife and had it up to her throat, freezing her immediately to his satisfaction.

"Lucky, Lucky, Lucky," he chuckled darkly. "Not a good time to be SOL, eh?"

Green eyes that had once been pissed, then scared shitless, were now pissed again. "You have five seconds ta let go of me, asshole," Lucky Day, one of the feminine jewels of the South Park Independent School District hissed, a Southern twang in her voice.

"Brave words but those aren't going to help you," he replied darkly, greatly amused. "Oh, and don't bother trying to knee me or kick me in the balls. Once you've been hit there enough times, you learn to carry protection. Now, you give me what I want and we will have no further problems, yes?"

Lucky was eyeballing him, more than likely stunned. He had never said so many words to her, ever. The fact that someone like him pulling her aside against her will was most likely something she had never thought of happening before. He pressed Winslow's blade closer to her throat to emphasize his point.

"Now, tell me, are there any new students that have arrived recently?" he demanded. "Answer me truthfully or I might forget where we are."

"You wouldn't," she swallowed, carefully trying not to move much. "Nobody's that crazy."

"I never said that I wasn't," he countered, reveling in the fear he could see in her eyes. "Now answer the question, Ms. Day. Neither of us want to be late—"

There was the shrill ring and Bain paused before chuckling.

"Spoke too soon, I guess. Now, back to my question, cunt. Do we have any new students?"

"I don't know," she gritted out. "There, can ya let me go now?"

"Not yet, I want to be sure," he replied. "Just to be clear, you haven't seen or heard of anybody around here who dresses in all black, has pale skin, and red eyes?"

She gave him an odd look, despite the fact he had Winslow against her neck. Hmm, curious…

"Who are you talking about?" she demanded.

He peered into her eyes, searching for any kind of deception. Of course, he wasn't good at detecting deception and it usually took a bunch of research and study before he could conclude whether or not someone was lying to him or telling the truth.

Still, after keeping an eye on most, if not every single person in the school, he would know if the bitch was lying to him and he didn't see anything that gave her away. Maybe she was telling the truth.

There was a bang on the restroom door, followed by a rattling on it as a person on the other side began to struggle with it. He frowned at the interruption but didn't have much else to quiz Ms. Day over. For now at least.

He pulled away from her, slipping Winslow out of sight, and made his way to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, nearly sending in a short, plaid-clad boy in, the boy stumbling in and almost falling on his feet. Uncharacteristically, Bain reached out and snatched the faux fur-lined hood on the back of the boy's plaid sweatshirt and pulled him back to regain the boy's equilibrium. Wide, electric blue eyes blinked in surprise under a choppy mop of black hair that most would label "emo," yet it was obvious to even the untrained eye that this boy was a ray of sunshine despite his appearance.

Bain found himself resisting the urge to grab the boy by his lip ring and tear the piercing out; he had never liked seeing body piercings for some reason.

"Thanks, buddy!" the boy chirped, oblivious to the dark aura around Bain.

"Bathroom emergency again, Macon?" he replied, raising an eyebrow at one of the few people in the school that was shorter than he was. It was not something he took much pride in, thank you very much.

He proceeded to ignore anything else the boy might say, pausing only when a thought occurred to him. Smirking slightly, he turned back around and called back into the restroom, "Oh, Ms. Day? Before I forget, you've been invited to a dinner party this evening. Be sure to tell your father that in case he didn't get the invitation."

Macon blinked after him, slowly turning around to stare at a humiliated Lucky Day who was gaping after the dark boy. Bain's smirk widened further as he heard the naïve Macon ask, "Lucky? What are you doing in the boy's bathroom?"

* * *

He crouched into position, staring ahead at the mass of padded teens that lined up before him, all glaring at him from under green and yellow helmets. His eyes searched for an opening between any of them and while he didn't see any, he did focus on a point where he was going to try and barrel through.

His muscles tensed and then he heard the anticipated "HUT!" and charged forth at that cue. He smashed through the defense, gritting his teeth as he exerted his tired body, twisting his waist suddenly and snatching a spinning brown ball out of the air.

A whistle sliced through the air, and he slowed down, his heavy footballs tearing into the dusty earth beneath him until he came to a complete stop. He ignored the yelling of their coach, knowing it wasn't directed at him but at the players who were practicing defense. At his own pace, he returned to where the others were, not giving up the ball just yet until the coach either came the order to do the play again or hit the showers.

It seems the offense was going to be lucky today as those on defense just plain ass sucked today, but then again they always sucked. They were the South Park Cows with a decent offense but a suck balls defense that even the weakest team could tear through like toilet paper.

But damn it, he loved the sport too much to give it up just because the team sucked ass. Football was his life, practically, and there was not a damn thing that would change that for him, Bryce Thompson, no relation to Hope Tompson, notice the lack of an "h" in those last names?

Anyway, he was one of the first string quarterbacks on the team, the number of touchdowns he had scored second until to that of Token Black. He didn't care about statistics, despite the fact that math was the only subject he got straight A's in other than Athletics. It was all about the game and the adrenaline rush, man.

Into the locker room, he moved his large body, easily one of the tallest in his grade at an easy 6'10" with hardly a trace of it fat and all of it pure muscle. It was safe to say that he was a student who nobody picked on as he was also the physically strongest student in the school, holding the school record for most weight bench pressed, clean jerked, squatted, and any other kind of lift you can name.

People were just afraid he'd crush them or break every bone in their bodies; maybe that was more of because he had done that same thing to Eric Cartman when the guy had singled him out because of his ethnicity in the sixth grade. Back then he had just been tall and lanky with hardly any muscle on him. However, it wasn't his Samoan ancestry that he got from his mother's side of the family that attracted the fat boy's attention; it was because he was from Canada where his father's side of the family came from.

And yes, he did say "eh" every once in a while; not like it was some big deal or anything.

Anyway, despite looking like a poster child for anorexia, he had broken both of Cartman's arms and busted a few locker doors before he calmed down. So yeah, no one got on him for being Canadian anymore despite a couple igloo taunts here and there.

It was a good thing that this was the last period of the day; it meant that he could take his time in the showers and make sure he got somewhat clean so he didn't get his car dirty. His mother had always been a stickler for cleanliness and he found that it was best to go along with her than to tick her off.

The warm water drenched his sweat drenched brown hair and he shut his dark brown eyes as he felt the water trail down his olive-hued skin that made him slightly tanner than the other guys.

Speaking of the other guys, they were making a ruckus and complaining about their defensive counterparts behind their backs as they were forced to run laps outside. He held a hand out, accepting a hi-five from Token as the black boy took the showerhead next to his and turned on the flood of steaming water.

"Man, what's it gonna take to get those guys to shape up?" Token complained. "It's like they're back in freshmen year or something."

"Lack of coordination," Bryce responded automatically, enjoying the warm water on his body, "no teamwork, and Cartman's on that side. He has bulk but he doesn't use it as much as he should."

"How'd he get on the team anyway?" Token demanded as he scrubbed the grime off his body. "His grades suck and his playing's worse!"

"He bribed the head coach," Stan replied from behind them, his voice almost monotone.

"Oh, well that figures," Token replied, accepting the answer.

The locker room suddenly got noisier as the defense finally came in, all whining and undressing for the showers, Cartman's voice loudest of them all (as well as being the first heard). The showerhead on his other side turned on but Bryce didn't need to look to know just who it was.

"Oh, that feels good," Joshua Fairman groaned out beside him and Bryce grunted in agreement. "Christ."

"Sounds like Coach worked ya good," Token commented with a chuckle though you could hear something else in his voice.

Bryce noticed Joshua tense up from the corner of his eye. Yeah, those two hadn't gotten along well and the only things they had in common were Football and, well, him. Everything else was stark contrast as Token was not only chiseled and handsome but the girls just flocked to him in drove; Joshua however had one too many facial disfigurements that seemed to ward the girls off like insect repellant.

"You wouldn't know," Joshua finally bit out. "You're on the part of the team that gets it easy."

"Not my fault you guys suck," Token shrugged.

In the background, one could hear Stan moan and say, "Not this crap again."

"Amen to that," another guy muttered as his scrawny body, once dripping with sweat and not drenched with the warm water, reddish brown hair plastered to his forehead. "Can't we all just get along?"

Joshua muttered something to himself, something that was masked by the noise of several showerheads running at the same time. However, when he spoke again, he was loud enough to be heard, "At least I can dribble a ball and make free throws."

"What was that?" Token demanded, whirling around under his spray to better glare at the disfigured teen.

Immediately, Bryce covered his eyes and turned his head away. "Token! I don't need to see you down there, eh!"

"Yeah, it's embarrassing," Joshua sneered. "I thought people like you were suppose to be 'gifted' down there."

"Oh, it's on bitch," Token snarled as he made to go after Josh, attempting to get around Bryce. Next thing the larger boy knew, he was being squished between two naked guys who were trying to tear each other apart and he found himself feeling incredibly uncomfortable.

Placing a hand on either boy's shoulders, he shoved both off him, both Joshua and Token slipping backwards to run into the guys on their other side. It caused a chain reaction as one boy after another lost their footing against the wet tiled floor and ran into the guys next to them, practically falling over like dominos.

This continued until one hit up against Cartman who fell against the door into the shower room, the door stopper keeping it open slipping out and slamming it closed just as one Kenny McCormick, male cheerleader, was peeking in to see what all the noise was about.

The result was that the door slammed into his neck and decapitated him, blood spraying out from his head and onto the nearby teens who cried out in shock. The whole room became silent until Stan finally cried out:

"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"

"Goddamn it!" Cartman yelled out his showerhead. "Kenny got blood all over me! Son of a bitch!"

* * *

As school got out that day, on time this time, Rhiannon found herself stopping in her tracks at a very welcome sight. You needed good eyes but whenever this was of concern, Rhiannon didn't need 20/20 vision. His lips split open into a large ass smile and she began hurrying into the school's parking lot, heading towards one car in particular that was on the outskirts.

Leaning against the car was a very large individual that was scruffy looking with a cigarette clasped between a pair of lips and smoke trailing up from the lit end. His sharp brown eyes had picked her up long ago, she was sure, and didn't leave her for a second as she came to a stop in front of him, throwing her arms around his neck and crushing her colorful body against his.

There were so many things she wanted to ask but the first thing to come out of her mouth was, "You want to puke in my hair?"

Oh God damn it.

"Interested in ze Marsh boy, hmm?" the larger boy teased, an accent coloring his voice. "Should I be jealous?"

"No!" she was quick to say, looking panicked for a second before realizing that the boy wasn't serious. "I mean…what I meant to say was can I lick your pussy? Aw damn it!"

"If it were anatomically pozzible, I would," he chuckled.

"Christophe!" she whined, playfully hitting his chest. "Don't be mean!"

"Heh, I'm still waiting for you to eat my shirt," he replied, taking his cigarette out of his mouth so that he could better kiss her lips. Pulling away, he asked, "Need a lift?"

"As if I'd say yes," she said, pausing before swearing again.

"Get in, zen," he said, obviously enjoying her embarrassment. "Let's get out of 'ere b'fore someone tries to beetch me out for smoking."

"You do know it's bad for you," she told him, moving towards the passenger seat of the car. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"'Ow many times will I 'ave to ignore you?" Christophe retorted as he put his key into the ignition and revved the engine.

* * *

Lucky Day: **Doomed-Orange-Parka**

Macon Wood: **xXBeyondBirthdayXx**

Bryce Thompson: **DefectCriminal**

Chase Martson: **DefectCriminal**


	9. Meet the Cynises

Author's Note: There are a couple characters introduced here that were inspired by DefectCriminal. If you read the title, you can guess just who those characters are. And DefectCriminal, I went back to IUTDH to make sure I got the description of her correct; some other OCs come in, to greater or lesser degrees. Do not worry, I have a plan for each character but what that plan is, y'all just have to read to find out. A certain theme I've been noticing in the latest reviews is that a bunch of you were, how do you say, caught up in life and only now things are cooling down for you. Well, school year's almost up so you won't have much excuse not to review in the future, now will you? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or the various books mentioned.

Warning: language

Meet the Cynises

Lucky had been having a good day, that was until she found herself being dragged into the boys' bathroom and had a knife held against her throat. And then to add further insult to injury, Macon found out that she was in the restroom and had not left her alone about it.

Imagine her dismay to find out that the little "invitation" that Bain had mentioned was not some kind of ploy but was real, very real. So instead of staying out all Friday night with some friends, she was being dolled up to go with her father and brother to the Cynis' house. She had already had her fill of their son for the day and she was not looking forward to it.

Those thoughts were then overcome by another thought: where did the Cynises live anyway? Did they even live in South Park?

And most of all, why the hell did she have to get dressed up? These were just some rednecks, like the rest of the town, weren't they? And where did her father even get a tux anyway? He was a mechanic for crying out loud!

Part of the mystery was soon cleared up when they arrived at a nondescript house, which looked like almost every other house in town, and the front door was opened to reveal perhaps the most gorgeous, and sexiest, woman she had ever seen. She knew she didn't swing _that way_ but by looking at this woman, she felt she could give up dick right then and there.

Dark hair was fashioned into curls that were piled on top of one another and the woman's face was shaped just so that it was then yet didn't look anorexia in any way, lustful green eyes welcoming her father who had suddenly become a mindless boob. A navy blue dress hugged the woman's shapely and trim body, leaving almost nothing to the imagination yet at the same time did not project that whole whore imagine that someone like Liane Cartman did.

"Ah, Jason, glad to see you could make it," the woman said, giving a dazzling smile that Lucky swore made her father come on the very steps they stood on. "And I see you brought the children, good! Now, how about you two go on downstairs where the others are, OK?"

Lucky swallowed and nodded alongside her brother who was also silent, too busy staring at the woman's cleavage to be of any help.

Once inside, she couldn't help but notice that everyone in sight was in formal wear, the men either in dress shirts and kacki pants or in tuxes and the women were positively glittering with their jewelry. Were the Cynises sticklers for formal wear or something? Another thing, most of the men here had their eyes focused on the beautiful woman, all with lust and jealousy in their eyes.

Lucky knew for a fact that at least ninety-five percent of the men here were married.

She didn't have much more time to think about this as she and her brain-dead brother were ushered down into the basement of the house. It was down here she found herself surprised to see a bunch of the kids from school here, all dressed up for a party that they weren't being allowed to participate in upstairs.

Then why the hell were they here in the first place if they were to not be seen or heard? Were the Cynises missing a few screws in their heads? Actually, that might explain a few things…

Among those that were here, there were the usual suspects: Stan, Token, Craig, and Clyde were gathered together; Tweek, Butters, and a girl known as Alice were across from them; in a corner was Rhiannon and her boy toy the Mole, and over there was Katie who was annoying Siryn and Robyn about going out somewhere. Sitting close to them were Bryce Thompson who sat side by side with his girlfriend Bebe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger who was busy casting looks at Stan and near them were Kyra, who was also looking at Stan in longing, Hope Tompson, and Siryn with Ike Broflovski at her side. Sitting off by herself was Charlie who looked completely put out in her formal dress her mother more than likely forced her into.

In the center of all the kids was somebody Lucky hadn't met before. It was as if she was looking at a younger version of the woman who had let them in. Her black hair was long, nearly flowing out of her head and down her back, stopping just under her waist, her body slender and supple at the same time but what was really discerning was that she had an eye that was solid gray while the other was plain green and both were flashing arrogance while throwing subtle glances at Christophe in his corner.

It was obvious that she had to be Bain Cynis' sister or someone closely related. Even from where she entered the basement, she could see that the girl was the center of attention as the boys kept casting looks at her and then quickly looking away, their cheeks flushing slightly.

It was obvious what exactly was on their minds.

However, unlike the woman at the door, who she was beginning to suspect to be Mrs. Cynis, this girl seemed to be screaming for attention with every move that she made and immediately, Lucky found herself turned off by it. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the girl was a slut or something.

Like the rest of the guys here, her brother seemed captivated by the dark haired girl who was currently the center of attention, and she rolled her eyes and made her way over to Clyde's side, wanting to be next to someone she felt comfortable with. She didn't notice Siryn's eyes on her that expressed jealousy and something deeper.

It was only when she was right next to Clyde that he took notice of her and seemed slightly embarrassed by it. "Oh, hey Lucky. When'd you get here?" he asked.

"Few minutes ago," she shrugged. Now while she could let something like Clyde's inattentiveness pass any day, right now she found herself annoyed by it, especially since he seemed to be hanging on the world of that one girl whom she hadn't even known existed before. However, she didn't show her annoyance, covering it up by being her usual laid back self. As time wore on, though, she found that her irritation couldn't be hidden for good especially as that girl kept yapping.

What was she talking about anyway? She hadn't been listening so…

"I mean, yeah, college is nothing like this hick town. There's all these guys who want to get into my pants and I tell them no but it's like they don't even listen! The girls are all bitches too and the professors! It's like they don't care and you have to actually _ask_ them for help first! It's crazy!"

The longer she when on, the more Lucky felt she was getting stupider. How was it that the boys could stand to listen to this?

"But yeah, I'm here for the weekend and all, takin' a little break. Forgot my parents were holding a party but then you guys are cute," the girl continued, not seeming to stop for air. "I just wish we could, I don't know, sneak out of here and maybe do something fun. It's so boring here!"

"Yeah," Stan, Token, Clyde, and Craig sighed, all looking at the girl dreamily.

Oh Jesus tap dancing Christ! Why of all times did they have to think with their dicks now?

Before she could interrupt their little fantasy time, the door to the basement opened but this time with more of a bang and followed by the clopping of several footsteps. In no time at all, two identical boys appeared, both dressed identically down to their reddish-brown hair combed the same. The one difference that could be seen was that one was swaggering with each step he took, his blues radiating confidence while the other was more reserved, his eyes expressing shyness.

"Ladies, ladies, ladies, no need to tear our clothes off, the Martson twins are here," the first twin, Chase announced, breaking the spell that the nameless girl with the two different colored eyes had weaved.

"Oh, give it a rest Chase," Stan stated, rolling his eyes.

"Why, hello Chase and Jace!" Butters greeted, giving a large, sunny smile.

"Butters, my man! How's it hangin' in the crib?" Chase greeted the blond boy, taking Butters' hand and performing a series of intricate grips and shakes, Butters surprisingly reciprocating.

"For shizzle, my hommie," Butters answered, still with his innocent charm about him. "Do you know what I am saying?"

"Hey," Jace muttered as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not liking being in the center of attention.

"Aw, lighten up," Chase exclaimed, clapping his brother on the shoulder before looking up and seeing the girl who had captivated the guys earlier. "Well hello. What have we here?"

It was then that Lucky noticed how the girl was watching the twins and to her surprise, she didn't look happy one bit. In fact, she almost looked hostile but that expression on her face vanished instantly and suddenly, it was like she was a Southern gal at her first ball.

It creeped her out, really it did.

"Call me Sierra," the girl said regally, as if giving Chase the name of God himself.

"Huh, you don't look like a Sierra," Chase replied. "If anything, you look more like an Ashley or a Brittany. Maybe you could go to a judge and get your name changed."

Sierra, as Lucky now knew her, looked more than offended but to her surprise, the boys were all throwing warning looks at Chase, as if daring him to go further. The girls, though, looked like they were about to laugh their asses off. It was obvious that only the boys were enamored with this bitch but Sierra didn't seem to notice.

Then, before the girl could say anything, Charlie got up from here she had plopped down and said, "Where's the bathroom? I need to take a piss."

Well, that was certainly crude.

Apparently, Sierra thought so too and she said dismissively, "Go upstairs and use the one there."

"Gee, thanks a lot," Charlie spat out as she passed by Chase and Jace and climbed up the stairs.

"Huh," Chase blinked. "Wonder what's up her skirt?"

"Chase," Jace groaned, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment, a hand pressed up against his face.

That was when Butters suddenly asked, "Isn't the bathroom just over there?"

Looking in the direction that Butters was motioning to, Lucky raised an eyebrow at the sight of an open door where a toilet could be visibly seen.

"Opps," Sierra shrugged, not at all ashamed.

* * *

Oh God, why did her mother have to drag her here? She had the urge to go out and dig a dozen holes or something; spending that much time with Sierra of all people was stretching her patience to the breaking point. Plus, she hated the girlish dress her mother had forced on her since, as she put it, "Cybil Cynis said to get dressed up."

She was really starting to get why Bain was a crazy bastard. She hadn't met his father yet but after seeing his mother (who she wouldn't lie even turned her on) and the way she seemed to flirt yet be bubble-headed and spending time with his attention-whoring sister, she found that she didn't want to meet the man of the house.

As soon as she exited the basement, she found herself forming through the crowded house, most of the men with their eyes on the hostess with the mostess and the women all having the same thoughts of kicking their men to the couch for the night.

Upon finding what she thought was the bathroom, she found the door locked and sighed before looking for an alternative, catching sight of the stairs that led to the second floor. That had to be a bathroom up there and so up she went, determined to at least create a plausible excuse as to why she was gone from the basement for so long.

To be perfectly honest, she didn't really need to go, it was just one huge excuse to get out of there and have her absence explained right away with no suspicion.

She reached the second floor and stared down the long corridor before her, wondering how it could be so well lighted and spacious. It kinda looked like a funeral parlor just without the smell of dead people and no sad people.

She made her way down the hallway, glancing at the closed doors and noticing no light escaped from under the cracks beneath them. Then she came across a faint glow that was so barely noticeable that if she hadn't been looking, she would've missed it.

She was intrigued and carefully, she approached the door, just barely making out the sound of what sounded like typing. Against her better judgment, she took hold of the doorknob and twisted it, pushing open the door and peeking in—

—only to pull her head back as something sharp gleamed and whipped by her head to impale a dartboard that was hanging on the wall right next to the door. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she almost fell back onto her ass but her grip on the doorknob managed to prevent that from happening though the door was going to make a loud slam when it shut.

Suddenly, the door stopped closing and was pulled open, dragging her forward first by her own grip on the doorknob then by a hand that snatched her by her dress and pulled her into the room, the air rushing past her until she found herself face first into a mattress.

"It's rude to enter a room without knocking," a voice spoke but she already knew who it was that was speaking to her. She knew that voice anywhere.

As she opened her mouth to retort, she saw Bain between her and the door, his hand on the handle of a large hunting knife and proceeding to pull it out of the dartboard that it was stuck in before strolling over to a desk and plopping himself into the chair situated in front of it.

"What brings you to my bedroom, Charlotte?" Bain asked casually before she could muster up the wit to say something. "Aren't you suppose to be quarantined with the other shitheads in the basement?"

"Why aren't you there? Hmm?" she finally managed to say, proud that it hadn't taken her more than a minute to come up with.

"Because I'm not stupid like my sister is," Bain replied smoothly. "I'm at least smart enough to know to keep quiet when I'm hiding myself away up here. Which reminds me, you almost blew my cover. Care to explain what you were doing up here?"

She swallowed, a little uneasy about being in the lions' den, so to speak, and how Bain seemed to be toying with the tip of his hunting knife, appearing to be cleaning under his fingernails. It was then she noticed how barren the room was. Other than the furniture and a bookcase full of books, the walls had nothing on them other than that dartboard and were a pasty white that reminded her of a classroom or a prison cell.

"Well, whore? I don't have all day," Bain said dryly, buffing the fingernails of one hand against a dress shirt that his mother more than likely forced him into.

"I've spent nearly half an hour with your sister and needed some fresh air," she stated. "I'm think I'm starting to see just why you seem to hate women."

Bain just snorted and turned his attention to an opened laptop on the desk he was at.

She blinked at that. "So you're not going to kick me out or something?"

"Even I'm not that cruel to violate your Eight Amendment rights," Bain said. "So long as you don't do anything to alert to my mother to the fact that I'm up here, I could care less what you do. After all, this party is for me."

"Huh?" she blinked, not quite understanding.

"That slut I call mother wants me to make friends with all the 'little children at school,'" Bain snorted. "That's the reason why you and the other morons from school are here. Besides that and my mother just wanted a reason to socialize. Of course, she just has to have that dress code of hers, the bitch."

"So why aren't you downstairs then?" she asked challengingly, honestly curious.

"Because my whore of a sister found out about it and rushed home from college, claiming she was homesick," Bain practically snarled. "She not only has to be the center of attention but has to be the star. She wants everything, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Imagine having to grow up with that, if you will."

Charlotte blinked; wow, that sucked. Kinda explained why he seemed so bitter a lot of the time.

But it still didn't excuse him for being an asshole.

She got up from what she figured was Bain's bed and began examining his room, searching for something that stuck out from the blandness. She felt Bain's eye on her and she did her best to ignore them, knowing that it was a losing battle. Inevitably, she approached the bookshelf and took a good look at the books she found there, wondering what else it was that he head.

It was no surprise that there was a copy of _The Exorcist_ on the top shell and just by looking at it, she could see how worn out it was. What was surprising was the worn book next to it, _The Silence of the Lambs_. Huh, she hadn't known that was a book.

Her attention drew down to the shelf below that one and she saw an assortment of titles that seemed to have no real order or meaning to them. _The Stranger Beside Me_? _Green River Running Red_? _Everything She Ever Wanted_? _Blood Bath_?

Then she caught on to the tiny print on the side of each book, _True Crime_.

She turned her head around to give him a look, one that he merely smirked at. "Find something?" he asked airily.

"What is all this?" she demanded.

"True crime novels," he said, stating the obvious. "Criminology has progressed since the times of Sherlock, Charlotte. DNA, trace evidence, partial prints, bullet markings, forensics just keeps expanding to the point that evidence can be found no matter how miniscule it is. Join the twenty-first century sometime; you'd be amazed at what we know."

"All I'm hearing is blah, blah, blah," she mocked. "What is all this, your porn collection? Are you a necrophiliac?"

"You must have to beat away all the boys with a stick with that language," he said dryly, not taking the bait as he usually did. Must be because he had home field advantage here. "Why are you curious about my choice of reading material? Is there something you are hiding? Perhaps you yourself have the proverbial 'boner' for some nitty gritty detective stories? Or maybe you're looking for something else, hmm? Perhaps a possible explanation for why dear Jackie-boy went off the deep end?"

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fist. Now the bastard was dipping into territory he shouldn't be in and the only thing keeping her from jumping at him was the implied possibility that she had to spend more time with his bitch of a sister if she did attack him, knowing he would fight back as her gender hadn't stopped him from trying to harm her before.

"You mind getting out of my head, asshole?" she growled, glaring at him as her body practically trembled from suppressed anger.

"Depends," he smirked at her. "What are you willing to offer me in return?"

Once again she blinked at him. What?

"I've never had a blowjob before," he said casually as he unbuttoned his pants yet not unzipping them. "Get me off and I'll say not one word more this night. How about it?"

"You…you're…" she trembled, not believing what she was hearing.

But then before she could do anything, a harsh laugh bellowed at her. She stared, dumbfounded at Bain as he was leaning back into his chair, a hand pressed to his forehead as he laughed heartily at her expense. It was a deep laugh, she noted, one that echoed out from deep within his small body and she could practically feel the amusement aimed at her.

"You…you really thought I'd stoop to sexual favors?" he laughed. "Oh, this is priceless."

And now she felt humiliated and an urge to go dig a hundred holes. Her face was red with either anger or embarrassment (she didn't know which one to tell the truth) but regardless of that tiny fact, she was more than considering smashing her fist into his face.

However, Bain was up on his feet, his pants rebuttoned, and he was putting on his trademark black trenchcoat, moving as if he was about to go somewhere. He glanced back at her, his eyes full of mirth and for once without arrogance or malice. This time when the blood rushed into her face, it was mainly because she felt her heart racing, seeing how handsome the boy could be when he wasn't emitting hatred or being antisocial.

And for a second, she really did think about giving him head. Just for a second mind you, not that she would admit it anytime soon.

"I'm feeling gracious tonight," he said. "Care to get out of here and go for a little drive?"

* * *

She had found herself saying yes and the next thing Charlotte knew, she was out in the cold in the Cynises' driveway where Bain was removing a large tarp off a black car. She felt a chill just from looking at it, as if the vehicle was possessed with evil itself.

"1983 Chrysler Cordoba," Bain said with a touch of awe in his voice that Charlotte picked up on quickly as he folded the tarp up, "perhaps the one thing my father ever gave to me of his own volition. An early birthday gift, he called it. This is the one possession of mine, outside of my little blades, that I take real good care of."

"Yeah…" she said uneasily, "…I can tell."

"Get in," Bain said, his voice leaving no room for question as he himself got in and started the motor.

Despite being uneasy, she got in the car itself and tried to relax as much as possible.

"Seatbelt, Charlotte," Bain stated, peering at her with not a sign of emotion on his face.

Slightly surprised that he would obey the traffic laws, she did as she was told and no sooner had she done that did she suddenly find the car in the middle of road, cruising smoothly into downtown South Park.

"Beautiful," Bain murmured to himself, though she still managed to hear him. Looking at him now, she realized that she hadn't seen this side of him in, well, she guess this was the first time then. Bain looked utterly in control and even though that arrogance of his was back, it came out more as confidence and for once, she could actually see him as a normal guy.

It was weird, yet it left a giddy feeling in her as she was perhaps the only person on the entire planet that had ever witnessed this side of Bain Cynis before.

Smoothly, Bain glided the car to a stop and put it into park yet not turning off the ignition. One of his hands reached out stroked the dashboard, petting it in an adoring fashion yet it didn't even seem out of place or weird. For once, Charlotte felt as if she could be comfortable around this guy, a person who had tried to cause her nothing but pain since the day she had returned here.

Which is perhaps why she suddenly got extremely suspicions of his intentions.

"Okay, what's this all about?" she asked, trying not to come off as too assertive for reasons unknown even to herself.

"For once, I don't have the answer," Bain answered as he shut his eyes, looking absolutely at peace.

The tranquility was infectious and Charlotte found that she didn't care if there was some ulterior motive. She was at peace, the kind she hadn't felt since the death of her brother all those months ago. Nothing mattered in the world, not even the fact that she was in a small enclosure with a crazy asshole who loved making other peoples' lives miserable.

The car shifted and then began to move and Charlotte found that she had actually closed her eyes. Whoa, she was so relaxed and it was Bain of all people who did this to her!

"Tired?" Bain asked.

"No," she responded automatically. "Why? You taking me somewhere?"

"Nope," Bain drawled out, his usual sophistication gone. "Just in the mood to…wander, I suppose."

And wander they did as they drove around the town, always making random turns, always moving at an unhurried speed. She had no idea how much time may have passed and she didn't care. If anything, she was slightly disappointed when Bain pulled up in front of her house and shifted the gear back into park.

"End of the road," Bain drawled. "Time to be going our separate ways, for now."

"I…I guess so," she sighed, unbuckling her seat and getting out.

No other words were spoken; they weren't needed. She could feel Bain's eyes on her but for once, she wasn't bothered by them. Something had happened tonight, something between the two of them yet she couldn't put her finger on it.

It wouldn't be until later, after Bain had driven off, that she began to wonder: how did he know this was my house?

* * *

Jason Day: **Doomed-Orange-Parka**

Lucky's Brother: **Doomed-Orange-Parka**

Sierra Cynis: **based on an OC in DefectCriminal's _I Used to Dig Holes_**

Alice Lufkin: **Yumi loves the darkness**

Jace Martson: **DefectCriminal**


	10. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Author's Note: Plot development this chapter and boy is it a doozy. If you think things were dark before, from here on in it gets darker and will progressively get darker. It's only in hard times when you see a person's true character, or something like that. Enjoy.

Disclamier: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, criminal activity

Something Wicked this Way Comes

Jesus Christ it was fucking cold out here.

Not for the first time, Megan Blanchard was thinking that perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to be out in the middle of Colorado by her lonesome, doing the whole "running away from home" bit.

Her family was so broke, it wasn't funny, and she was tired of having to do everything to support it. She was tired of working, tired of being responsible while her mother pissed away all their money on booze while her father did God knows what to earn a living.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be something very lucrative. So, she packed up so clothes, a little food, and some of her favorite stuffed animals, and here she was in the middle of the Rockies heading who knew where. Right now, she was outside of yet another bar where she was seeking another ride, hopefully to somewhere warm like California. She had heard they treat the homeless over there well.

She wrinkled her nose and fiddled with a lock of her brown hair as she saw some drunks stumble out of the bar and she immediately decided not to do anything to approach them. Odds were they'd turn around and try and rape her or something.

"Odd, what's a little lady like you doing in a place like this?"

The voice came from nowhere and it startled her. Yet she didn't panic as she knew she could handle herself if it came to fists. She didn't have the most enduring of tempers that might help her stay out of fights.

She found the source of the voice in the form of a young looking guy in an orange coat with a green colored hat that had flaps on either side of his head, masking the hair that most likely grew there. An eyepatch covered the guy's right eye, leaving only his left eye visible that was colored an intense green. The guy merely raised an eyebrow at her, waiting expectantly at her.

"Who the hell are you?" she snapped at him, taking an immediate dislike to the guy.

The guy raised his hands up in mock surrender. "Easy, easy, you don't have to take my head off. I was just wondering why you're hanging around this place. And at this time of night too."

"It's none of your beeswax," she shot back, the tone of her voice causing the guy to back away from her.

The guy looked uneasy for a moment, biting his lip as if thinking of something and just as she was about to snap at him again, he said, "Look, I'm heading on up to Denver. If I offered you a ride, would you accept?"

Denver? Not the place she wanted to go but as long as she was going somewhere she'd be fine. Still, why would the guy offer her a lift or even know that she was looking for a ride? Her gut was warning her about something yet she ventured to ask, "What makes you think I'm hitchhiking?"

"Well, you do have a rather large backpack," the buy pointed out, "and I've noticed you watching people come out of the bar. It seems to me that you're heading somewhere but don't have the means to do it."

That kinda made sense but she was still wary. She wasn't the type of person to just trust someone right off the bat; spend a night with her family and you'd find out just why that was.

The guy noticed this then shrugged. "Can't blame me for trying. Good luck, I suppose, with whatever it is you're doing."

Now that surprised her. The guy had turned his back on her and was heading out into the parking lot. It was her turn to bite her lip as she debated on what she was to do.

Finally, she called out, "Hey! Wait up!"

The guy stopped and turned his head to look at her. "Change of heart?"

"Don't push your luck," she said with a slight sneer. "Denver's better than nowhere."

"Assertive, aren't you?" the guy said dryly as he led her to a pitch black car.

Megan was not impressed. "How old is this thing? Do you think it can make it to Denver before falling apart?"

The guy seemed to freeze but then relaxed as he got into the driver's seat. "This 'thing' is in better condition than all those fancy, right-out-of-the-factory cars. Don't make me regret offering you a ride."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Megan rolled her eyes as she stuffed her stuff into the backseat.

Minutes later, they were speeding down the highway and Megan had to admit, the ride was smoother than she thought it would be. Her good Samaritan was silent as a rock and hadn't said anything once they had pulled out of the parking lot, which just suited her just fine.

Then that silence was broken as the guy asked, "So where are you from? What brings you all the way to the middle of this great state?"

Looks like she spoke to soon.

"As I said earlier, it's none of your business," she huffed. "Now, can you just shut up or something? Your voice is starting to annoy me."

The guy chuckled. "You think you're tough, don't you?"

"What's that suppose to mean?" she demanded.

"Oh, nothing really," the guy replied.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't have said it," she shot back.

"Well, if you're so insistent, let's just say I've met quite a few women in my time and all of them thought that they were on top of the world, invincible and ready to conquer it all,"  
the guy said. "In the end, it was nothing more than an act. They were scared, weak. The strong-willed figure they tried to show was nothing but an illusion when put to the test."

"Let me guess, there's some kind of moral or something," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Pfft, as if she hadn't heard this spiel before.

"Indeed," the guy agreed. "Don't take ride with strangers."

"What?" she blinked. Now that had come from left field; she looked dumbly at him, only noticing what seemed to be a gun barrel peeking out from his orange jacket. Just as she was about to open her mouth, there was a small explosion of air and something heavy jamming right into her neck.

In less than a second, she had her hands up to her neck where she felt something sticking out. A hand suddenly grabbed her by her hair and pulled her down on her side until her head was just touching the outside of the guy's thigh. By then she felt a sudden bout of dizziness and disorientation, accompanied by a voice singing soothingly.

"_Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little child…_"

Her eyelids drooped, becoming incredibly heavy until darkness finally overtook her and she knew no more.

* * *

Rhiannon balanced her head against her hand, the arm it was connected to propped up on the passenger side window.

The sun had risen some time ago and with it had come Christophe who was there to pick her up for the outing that they had been planning for when he came back from his latest assignment/mission.

However, they hadn't even gotten out of the driveway when a bulky, pink blur intercepted them, begging at a near-hyper speed to come along. Katie had sure knew when to butt in and ruin what was supposed to be quality time with her boyfriend and she had been sure that Christopher would've shooed her away.

Instead, she noticed his eyes glaze over for a second and agreeing to drive Katie anywhere she wanted. She couldn't believe that that had just happened and now, half an hour later, she still hadn't come to terms with it.

All the while, Katie had been bouncing in the backseat with boundless energy that seemed to have no end, her blonde hair curled into Princess Leia buns and bouncing along with the rest of her body. Beside her on the backseat was a red cotton hair that she had been wearing when she had pleaded them for a lift. She didn't understand why Katie would put her hair in such a style if she was just going to cover it up with a hat that didn't go with that coat, thank you very much.

Not that she had any reason to be giving out fashion tips…

As Katie continued to blabber on in the backseat, Rhiannon looked towards her boyfriend in the driver's seat and asked, "What came over you to make you agree to this?"

"'Onestly? I do not know," Christophe confessed, also seemingly affected by the hyper background noise. Spying a spot up ahead, Christophe pulled the car over to the curb, much to Rhiannon's surprise and had she been paying attention at her boyfriend, she would have seen that glazed look again.

However, she didn't and was left in her confusion, wondering why Christophe was parking and shutting the car off. The mercenary then blinked and uttered out, "I think this is good enough."

It was the way he said those words that caught her attention. For a minute, he sounded more like a different person was speaking and not him. The words were said tonelessly and seemed to lack some sort of quality that she only associated with the Frenchman.

Katie, though, did not notice and merely squealed in delight as she threw herself out of the car and ran towards the nearby woods with all the energy of a five year old.

"Okay…" Rhiannon commented, blinking at everything presented to her. She had a feeling that the weirdness of South Park was acting up again but what exactly was going to occur, she did not know.

This was confounded by the fact that Christophe suddenly asked, "What are we doing 'ere?"

* * *

From a high vantage point, Damien smirked as he saw his pawns all falling into place. He had been worried for a bit when he realized that his tool wouldn't be able to make the trek to the woods where his little discovery was on her own. Her mortal body was much too frail to withstand the elements and the distance.

It had been luck that he had caught sight of those teens that were preparing to leave and even more lucky that one of them had died and gone to Hell in the past, even if only for a few minutes. Just that small window of exposure granted him a limited form of mental control over the boy and from there it had been simple to grant his tool permission to travel.

Now his tool was one step closer to completing her purpose and then the Pandora's box that would open would be able to provide him with more resources, mortal resources of course, but resources that also included expertise.

The mortals would do all the hard work for him, allowing him more time to meddle up here on Earth.

Sloth was so awesome.

* * *

There was just something so liberating about being outside of school, home, or any stuffy building she could name. The fresh air, the space, the mystery, Katie found it all intoxicating.

There was no comparison, the chance to explore and seek adventure was so much more fun than having to study or take those little blue pills her doctor said she needed to take every day. Speaking of those pills, she hadn't taken them in about a week and had her fingers crossed that her mother hadn't noticed she hadn't been taking them.

It was always something about them calming her down and helping her focus. She wasn't really paying attention so it could have been something else entirely.

Ooh look, a squirrel!

The small, grey animal was scurrying through the snow, stopping every once in a while to sniff the air before resuming the hunt for nuts. Katie found she had the urge to catch that squirrel. She couldn't explain why, just that she needed to.

Either that or there was some weird force in the town that was possessing her again; whichever one fit.

Now, she was impulsive by nature but she wasn't this impulsive. Compulsive, perhaps, but not so impulsive. Plus, the last couple times she had chased after squirrels, she had ended up in a fucked-up version of Wonderland that was being invaded by things called the Woodland Critters and another time she had run into a guy that was trying to be some kind of James Bond type of spy and failing miserably at it.

None of the other kids at school had believed her, though Eric Cartman seemed a little freaked by hearing about those critters

So she had some motivation to go chasing after this squirrel. Who knows? She might wind up finding some long lost gold mine or discover an underground civilization of Crab People! It was so exciting a prospect that she lost track of the squirrel for a minute.

Now where did that little bugger go? He can't have gone too far? Or maybe she got lost again? Oh, now that would be exciting, having to live off the land and wipe her ass with leaves…okay, maybe it wasn't that exciting.

A sudden noise caught her attention and she saw her squirrel scampering away. After him!

After almost falling into two ravines and running into at least one tree, she was still at her chase, grinning like an idiot when she tripped over a rock and fell face first into the snow-covered ground.

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she looked back towards her feet and frowned at the rock that had mess up her groove. She found that she had the sudden compulsion to grab the object and throw it at a random tree, take some of her sudden anger off on it.

Grabbing the rock, she found that it wasn't as heavy as she thought it would be but then she got a good look at it and she froze up in horror.

In her hand, she had found a skull. However, it wasn't some kind of animal skull that she probably would have thought was cool looking and put on her head so as to pretend to be a tribal shaman. It was a human skull.

The two round indention were a bit of a giveaway but it was what was left of the supposed upper jaw where she could distinctly see what looked like teeth.

Not having any idea as what to do with it, she did the first thing that popped up in her mind, which might have also been prompted by her placing her hand down on what could've been a human rib bone.

She screamed.

* * *

Petting the demonic squirrel that his tool hadn't got a good look at, Damien's red eyes glowed eerily in delight. His tool had found his little discovery from two nights ago; he could sense that the boy and girl that had accompanied his tool were heading in the direction so it should only be a matter of time before other mortals got involved.

All he had to do now, now that his pawn's use had been accomplished, was wait and see what his new pawns could find out from here. It could only be smooth sailing from here but in the meantime while he waited for some results, he would mess with some of the South Park townfolk.

Yes, he needed to make some unfortunate souls' lives living hells while at the same time making them think they were the ones responsible for it. There was nothing more fun than crushing a mortal's hope.

* * *

Megan Blanchard: **ILoveTweeky123**


	11. Anatomy of the Law

Author's Note: The plot really begins to come into play here. On another note, two certain officers, Yates and Murphy, are actually canon South Park characters. If you'll recall episodes like _The Jeffersons_, _Cartman's Incredible Gift_, and _The China Problem_, then you'll remember these guys. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Anatomy of the Law

The Park County Police Department had canvassed the surrounding area, the uniformed men taping off what was to be the center of a crime scene and two high school girls and a boy were detained to give their statements.

In the middle of it all, Sergeant Harrison Yates, a red headed, stocky man with a distinctive red moustache was cursing up a storm, his partner Detective Mitch Murphy at his side, agreeing with everything he said and adding in his own swears.

Yates, though, was pissed off not because he was called out to be here but because he had just about to nail another scumbag in a prostitution raid. Didn't those assholes in charge know how long it took to apply makeup and get that wig _just so_ so that none of those perves out there would suspect he was a man.

Murphy was only swearing because he had spilled his coffee in his lap on the drive out here.

When he had finally calmed down, Yates approached one of his men and asked, "So what's the story here?"

"Well, we got a call from three teenagers about an hour ago that one of them had found a skull," was his answer. "We sent a patrol car out to make sure it wasn't a false alarm or a mistake but it turned out they were telling the truth. We think they were out here trying to have a threesome or the girls were trying to lez out and the boy to watch."

"Nice," Yates said. "Very good work men. Keep to it and we'll interview our witnesses, maybe force a confession out of them so that we can get back home in time for the season finale of Lost."

"You get'em sir!" a nearby cop shouted.

Thus, Yates and Murphy were on their way to wrap this whole case up quickly. Neither of them wanted to miss Lost all because someone decided to go out and murder somebody. It just wasn't right that the rest of America would get to see what happened on that island while they had to slave away at their desks.

"So how are we going to go through this? Good cop, bad cop?" Murphy asked.

"That sounds good," Yates agreed. "You're good, I'll be bad."

"Hey, you were bad cop last time," Murphy stopped and glared at his partner. "It's my turn!"

"Well, I called it first," Yates replied. "Get into character; we don't want to tip them off."

"Yeah, yeah," Murphy grumbled as he set himself up to appear slightly upset yet willing to work to get to the bottom of the matter at hand while Yates himself became more stoic.

Yates' mask, though, almost broke as he got a good look at the three teenagers. He winced at the one in the pink coat; that color was so not her. In fact, red wasn't her color either. What she needed was…wait, he was suppose to be doing something. Yeah, he was the bad cop. Right. But how the hell was he to keep in character when he was confronted with two fashion don'ts and a grudge teen wannabe?

His job could be so tough sometimes…

"You're the kids that found this place, correct?" Murphy asked aloud as he approached the teens.

The one in the pink coat nodded her head, tears leaking from her eyes while the one that resembled a rainbow had her arm over her shoulders, eyeing the two police officers warily while the boy seemed disinterested in the whole thing.

Yeah, that one had to be a Goth.

"Well, we just want to go over your statements, get your names so as to make sure you girls…and guy are who you say you are," Murphy continued, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. "Standard procedure."

"Well," the rainbow girl began only to get interrupted.

"You're the murderers, aren't you?" Yates accused, ignoring the look his partner was giving him. "You killed whoever that skull belongs to and now you're trying to pass it off as if you didn't do it. I'm right, aren't I?"

The girl in the pink looked scared shitless, little Ms. Rainbow shocked, and Goth boy flicked away his cigarette, looking pissed.

"Don't bother to deny it, we know it was you," Yates declared. "Just admit to it so we can get this shit over with and be home in time for Lost."

"Wait, you mean to tell us that you think we're the guilty ones with no proof whatsoever just so you can go home and watch some stupid TV show?" Rainbow girl said, getting more and more ticked off with every word she said.

"It's the season finale!" Yates defended. "There's no way in hell I'm going to be missing it, not to a bunch of preteen adolescences who are pissed off at their mommies and daddies for not getting them ponies, alright?"

"Oh Blimey, we're freaking teenager!" Rainbow girl shouted.

"Everybody, calm down, that goes double for you," Murphy intervened, his last words directed at the male suspect. "Now let's go back through this from the beginning."

"You mean where you're trying to accuse us of killing a skull?" Rainbow girl asked dryly.

"It's not just a skull, it was a person Goddamn it!" Yates shouted. "I'm gonna throw the book at you monsters if it's the last thing I do!"

"Easy, man, take it easy!" Murphy ordered. Turning back to the teens, the detective said apologetically, "Sorry about this but my partner gets a bit involved with things like these. It would be helpful if you could tell us everything that happened, even the smallest detail, so that we can get this all cleared up."

"They're guilty, I tell you!" Yates announced.

The boy finally was able to speak, "'ow do we know you won't just twist what we say so as to get early conveections?"

The two cops froze up and slowly looked at the boy, giving him odd looks.

The boy frowned. "What?"

"You wouldn't happen to be French, would you?" Yates asked slowly, eyes narrowing.

"_Oui_," he replied dryly.

"Oh Goddamn it!" Yates yelled out as he began stomping away, Murphy dropping his side of the routine and scowling harshly, leaving the teens to watch after them in slightly confusion.

"I can't believe it! One of them's a surrender monkey, French asshole!" Yates snarled. "They're too big of pussies to ever go around killing people."

"And we were so close!" Murphy sighed. "I really thought they were about to crack."

"And now we're going to have to miss the season finale of Lost," Yates moaned. "I was really looking forward to watching it with my wife and getting some nookie out of it."

"Role play?" Murphy asked.

"You know it," Yates confirmed.

"Hey Sergeant," one of the officers called out. "What's the deal with the suspects?"

Yates sighed melodramatically and said, "One of them is French and the other two lack the balls to go around killing people. I'm guessing you know what this means."

Slowly, one said aloud, "We're going to miss Lost?"

"I afraid so, Lou," Yates admitted tiredly.

"AWWW!" the officers cried out in unison.

"Hey, what about Cop Drama?" a different officer asked.

"Hmm," Yates thought. "Maybe if we hurry and pull out the old black and white, we can probably just miss the first five minutes… Alright people, let's get this all wrapped up and get back the station. Make it hasty, I hear they're going to say meecrob twice."

* * *

"Zat is either ze most unprofessional or ze most incompetent law enforcement I 'ave ever seen," Christophe slowly stated as he watched the crowd of police officers scramble about.

"It's Park County, what can you do?" Rhiannon shrugged before looking down at Katie. "You holding up?"

"It…it was so horrible!" Katie whimpered. "Why would somebody do something like that? Why kill someone and leave them out in the middle of the woods?"

"But didn't you see worse on that Wonderland adventure of yours?" Rhiannon questioned.

"It wasn't the same!" she defended. "It was war, damn it!"

"You'd be surprise just what kind of scum live in zis world," Christophe commented. "I 'ave seen and met much worse 'fore. Zey…zey are a different breed of human."

"Let's just get out of here," Rhiannon said. "I hear they're showing the season finale of Lost tonight."

"Really? Lost?" Katie perked up. "C'mon guys, hurry up! We're going to miss it!"

* * *

"_Welcome back to Channel 4 Evening News."_

"_Earlier today, some reckless teenagers had a grisly surprise today when fooling around in the woods they discovered a bloody skull. Police were immediately at the scene, questioning the teenagers and upon learning one of them was French, let them go since we all know that the French suck at killing people._

"_Who the skull belongs to is still unknown but we here at the South Park News will keep you updated, the next update being in the next five minutes. Stay tuned._

_As for our next story, Miley Cyrus, also known as Hannah Montana, was discovered having an affair with another sitcom. Details in the next ten seconds."_

* * *

He frowned.

How had this happened? How could one of his sites been found? At this point, only a skull, the equivalent of one body, had been found but should the police take a closer look at the site…

Damn it, he hadn't thought it'd be discovered so soon, or at all. It was fortunate he had more than one place to go to but having one of them found really rankled. At least he had a new victim just waiting for some attention.

Yes, runaways were easy pickings, this one of no exception. He had been afraid that she would have listened to her instincts and turned away but like the other morons, she had gotten into the car and the rest was standard procedure. He had her put away in a safe place and had felt generous enough to place her small collection of stuffed animals in with her. She'd need all the comfort she could get because soon his fun would be starting.

* * *

The lights from the town barely reached the small strip of land but you only needed to be able to just barely see in order to do something as simple as digging a hole.

It had come as a surprise to Charlie when Christophe had called out of the blue, telling her he was coming by and that she needed to bring a shovel with her. She didn't make any argument, just said fine and went to the garage to retrieved the tool.

Now, nearly an hour later, she was wiping the sweat from her forehead, sitting at the edge of a hole and taking a short break while Christopher remained in it, shovel loads of dirt flying out periodically. By now she had gotten a good amount of the story out of the mercenary; what had first started as a getaway for him and Annon ended up with them somehow gaining a third wheel in the form of Katie Blaine.

Then Katie ended up finding a skull in the middle of the woods and Rhiannon had insisted they call the police to tell them about it. It was amazingly obvious that Rhiannon had little to no contact with the police in this county, not counting Officer Barbrady, and didn't know what she was inviting when she made the call.

Hell, even when Bain made attempts on the girl's life the cops hadn't been called in. Goes to show that the people in this small town were able to handle themselves with little to no law enforcement, only needing the presence of a single officer to maintain order.

However, Christophe wasn't pissed off by the events leading up to the police showing up; it was the blatant racial profiling they did in front of his face, dismissing him as a possible suspect just because he happened to be French.

"What do those cocksuckers know?" she could hear him growl down in the howl, a clod of dirt flying out momentarily. "I've keeled more people than he knows! I am not a pussy just because of my ethnicity!"

Charlie refrained from pointing out World War II, knowing that now was not the time to bring up historical facts.

Besides, it wouldn't be the first time she had made fun of him for being French. In fact it was fun, as long as you had quick reflexes and could duck under the first swing of a shovel aimed directly at your head. Despite being out of the hole they were at, she knew that she wouldn't be able to outrun him should she try teasing him. He had longer legs and had always been a better sprinter than her.

As Christophe continued to mutter in rage below her, she sighed and glanced around at their surroundings, not in the least surprised to see a virtual minefield of holes. Usually, she and Christophe would have filled them back up but the townsfolk didn't give two shits about this so they were left unfilled. At the rate they were going, though, they were going to need to find some more land.

Or, you know, do the logical thing and just fill the holes back up.

…but that would be too much work…

She tuned back in as soon as she began to hear Christophe's English degrade into muttered French curses and she rolled her eyes. She didn't understand half the shit he was saying, mainly because this was the first time she had heard him say such words, but she also didn't care as she was able to get the gist of it.

"I'm sure their parents aren't sodomizing Nova Scotians," she said tonelessly down into the hole. "Wouldn't they have said 'eh' all the time if they were?"

A shovelhead smacked the ground next to her and in the next second, a darkly scowling Christophe emerged from the hole and settled himself right next to her, tossing away a spent cigarette and lighting up a new one. With a wordless gesture, she held her hand out, which he stared out for a moment before rolling his eyes and placing a cigarette in it, offering up his lighter mockingly.

She accepted since she didn't have a lighter on her.

Breathing out the tar-filled plume, she relaxed slightly as the nicotine began to take effect. "Feel better?" she tossed out, expecting a negative answer.

"Not particularly," he grumbled out as he leaned back, keeping his body propped up by leaning back on his arms with his hands planted firmly on the ground. He felt silent for a moment before suddenly blurting out, "I mean, I zought the people in zis part of se Goddamned country wouldn't be zo fucking stoopid and believe zat fucking stereotype!"

She winced at how heavy his accent got as he complained. "You forget, we live in a town of near inbred rednecks," she pointed out, inhaling another drag on her cancer stick. "Plus, the town hasn't really changed much since the first and second grades, or at least the time I remember from back then, like Ms. Claridge being burned by Trent Boyette. I think some boys tried to put her out with their piss."

"I was homeschooled back zen," Christophe commented. "Didn't begin attending ze pathetic public school systeem until middle school."

"Huh, so that's why I never saw you at school," she said, looking contemplative.

"And I wish I was still being homeschooled," he grumbled. "Do you know what it was like to be labeled by not only ze fucking assholes in zis school but also ze teachers? First day and I'm written off as a foreign British pussy! I'm not even British!"

Charlie just gave him a look, one that blatantly said, "you did not just say that." She then snapped at him, "Hello! I traveled abroad. Italy, Russia anybody? The kids and teachers there were also assholes and called me a stupid American to my face. And whenever I tried to show them just who I was, there was always a teacher around to catch my punch and send me to the principal's office! It was worse in Italy, especially after I reminded them of how they got their asses kicked in World War II! The Russians were drunk when they went after me."

"But aren't Russians always drunk?" Christophe asked, curious.

"Only half the time," she shrugged. "High tolerance from drinking all the time."

"I see," he muttered, obviously making a note of that. She figured that he may have had some…assignments that took him to the largest country on Earth. It wasn't big enough to hide her family and herself from Jack, though.

By now, she could see some tension leaving the larger boy. Either it was from talking or the nicotine was finally hitting him but she much preferred him like this than pissed off and ready to kill something with his bare hands. He had once told her a story where he had been fleeing from a mission and ran into a bear, having to suffocate the beast before it gave away his position. Something about fish was involved there but she hadn't paid that much attention to the story until he mentioned choking the bear itself.

"It hasn't been easy for us, has eet?" Christophe sighed.

She looked at the boy. "How do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, my mother trying to abort me by stabbing a clotheshanger into my heart while I was still in ze womb and guard dogs; you with cancer and Jack. Having to hide, kill, fight…"

"Deal with Bain," she added, finally catching on to his train of thought.

"Well, zat last one more for you zan me," he chuckled.

"Oh? And what about all the times he's attacked and kidnapped Rhiannon?" she threw back goodheartedly.

"You…have a point," he acknowledge, taking another drag. "But…at least I'm not attracted to him, eh?"

She punched his shoulder, and not in a friendly manner either, as she blushed. "Will you fucking shut up with that?"

"Why?" he teased, not in the least affected by the blow much to her chagrin. "I've always been curious what you zee in him."

She paused at that. She was reluctant to admit that he had a point; the boy was an asshole with more than a few screws loose. What guy walked around throwing sharp, pointy objects at people who pissed him off and attacked anyone, anywhere with the least bit of provocation? On the other hand, there were times he had proved that he was much deeper than some hating machine with a perchance to attempted murder. For example, a day or so ago, he had driven her home without being asked and hadn't shown any tendency to be a bastard. Then there was her collection of incidences where she had either kissed or ended up kissing him. It was surprising that he was good at it since she had the idea that no one even wanted to get close enough to do that.

She was perhaps the most knowledgeable person in the world who knew how Bain Cynis thought. Christophe and others had only learned about him out of necessity and while that was also how she started, that necessity had turned to desire. She actually wanted to know what made the boy tick, what could change him from being an ungodly asshole to a lethal defender to a confident and slightly compassionate individual. How many facets were there of him? There were times she dreaded being near him and there were others where she only wanted to be with him.

A paradox, one in which she had found herself enraptured and unwilling to escape.

But this was starting to tread in dangerous grounds so she hastily changed the subject.

"So you found a skull today," she said, wincing internally when she saw Christophe tense up beside her, undoing hours' worth of relaxing and loosening up.

"Katie did," he finally said, most likely trying not to think about certain law enforcement personnel. "It…it looked like it had been there awhile. No flesh, no meat or tissue, nothing." He fell silent before looking right at her and asking with a raised eyebrow, "What would Sherlock take from zis?"

Oh, oh that was just great. Teasing her about her ob—er, enthrallment with Sir Arthur Doyle's greatest literary creation. Damn, now that made her feel like she was a Twilight retard. Well, she'll prove that you could actually learn something from Robert Downey Jr. than from a whinny bitch who should slit her wrists and bless the world with her absence.

"Well, it could be that the skull belonged to a hiker who got lost and died," she pointed out. "Animals live out in there; it could have been left there by a wolf or a Sasquatch."

Aw shit, she had to bring up Bigfoot…

"And what if it wasn't zat?" he asked, seemingly looking over her little slip.

"Foul play?" she asked, making sure that she was on his train of thought first. "Then the person who the skull belonged to either was killed in that spot or somewhere else and the skull was dragged there by wolves. Were there any other bones there?"

"A few, I zink," Christope thought.

"Then the person was killed there or the body was dumped there," she shrugged. "And since it was just bones, that means that it was there for some time; six months at the least and maybe more than a year."

"Great, so we're in a murder mystery, huh?" he commented. "Perfect, just fucking perfect. What are ze odds they'll catch who did zis?"

"Not great," she said. "Sherlock didn't do a lot with dead bodies."

"Zen who would?" Christophe asked.

She paused as someone popped up into her head. Oh man, she knew that ze Mole was _not_ going to like this. "Besides the police and detectives?" she asked.

Christophe nodded.

"Well, I know Bain reads a bunch of True Crime novels," she shrugged. "He's smart; he ought to have picked up something."

"_Non_. No way," he stated. "I'd rather read ze books myself."

"He had a lot of books," she said dryly.

Christophe paused, hesitating. "Isn't…isn't there some other way?" he asked.

"We could ask the police but you don't seem to be on good terms with them," she pointed out.

"You could ask them," he nearly pleaded.

"Ask who? Barbrady?" she snorted. "I don't know a lot of people who would know about murders. I know a bunch of smart people but only one who's both smart and knows about murder. What'll be?"

To be honest at this point, she really, _really_ didn't want to be doing this either.


	12. Anatomy of a Crime

Author's Note: Sorry it took a while to update but lack of motivation and procrastination have been hitting me hard. That, and I'm working on finishing a story for a different fandom, one that I should have finished a long time ago. Anyway, this chapter is loaded with a lot of stuff about police work and crime and whatnot. So yeah...

On another note, one Tight Hold On Death has created a little dictionary of South Park OCs recently and she could use your help cataloging them all. Go to **http:/ southparkocs . wikia. com /wikia/ SouthParkOCDictionary _ Wiki**. Long, yes, but get in on the action and fill that baby up. Hope you, Tight Hold On Death, don't mind the free advertising. Now, for everyone else out there, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, slight violence, dark themes

Anatomy of a Crime

It was morning when they found themselves on the doorstep of the Cynis household. Charlie knew, without a doubt, that Bain would be here. He hardly left his house on the weekends and if he did, then somehow he got passed her without her knowing.

Then again, she also knew he was home seeing as how there was a car covered with a tarp in the driveway. Seeing how ratty the tarp looked, she wouldn't have given it a second thought that there was anything of value underneath it.

Most likely the reason why Bain used the tarp in the first place.

Beside her stood a disgruntled Christophe who was on his third cigarette that morning. It was obvious that he did not want to be here. Truthfully, she didn't want to either since dealing with Bain Cynis first thing in the morning was not something she looked forward to or did of her own free will.

It was still a bit surprising when the front door opened and there was Bain, his trenchcoat being worn over a gray shirt and sweatpants, his eyes narrowed as he looked at them.

It was also obvious that he wasn't going to be speaking first.

She clear her throat, trying to get rid of some of her anxiety. "Um, Bain?" she asked. "We…that is Christophe has some questions and I thought you'd be the one to ask them to. So…if you mind that is…"

"What are the questions?" he snapped out, his voice gravelly instead of velvety, like he had just woken up. Looks like someone else wasn't a morning person here.

"You think we could come inside first?" she asked, falling back into the routine she used when dealing with him. "It's kinda cold standing out right here, ya know."

Bain just stared at them before saying, "No," and slamming the door in their faces.

Or he would have done it had Christophe not stuck his foot in the way of the door. "Listen, you piece of shit," he began.

"Oh, oh that's appropriate," Bain interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You come to me to answer your inquiries and you insult me too? Scram while you still can."

"Look, we need some answers and you're the only one we can get them from," Charlie intervened, unwillingly stooping to a low that she hated doing, which was pleading to his ego. "You're the only one…" here she gritted her teeth, "…_smart_ enough to know the answers. So can you please just let us in?"

"Stroking my ego can only get you so far, Charlotte," Bain stated. "The answer is still 'no.'"

"It's about murder," she blurted out, ignoring the glare Christophe threw at her. However that seemed to catch Bain's attention as he stopped trying to slam the door on them.

"Really," he stated, looking straight into her eyes with that look of his that made her feel he was seeing into her very soul. "What about…murder?"

"Just some basic questions," Christophe muttered gruffly. "Now will you let us in?"

Bain looked as if he was thinking about it before shrugging and opening the door for them. "Eh, why not? Any chance to make you look obtuse."

And that was how the two had found themselves back into the sanctum of the Cynis family. They had taken up a couch while Bain had taken an armchair and crossed his legs, looking at them intently.

"Well?"

Charlie swallowed, getting her thoughts together. "Why would someone murder somebody?"

Bain raised an eyebrow at that. "You're scraping at the bottom of the barrel with that one, aren't you?"

"Just answer the fucking question," Christophe ordered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Lots of reasons," he drawled out. "Financial gain, mental deficits, covering your ass. Really, the question you ought to be asking is not 'why' but 'who.'"

"Alright, who could do a murder?" Charlie asked.

"Better, I'm amazed you can learn," Bain replied. "Well, the majority of murders are committed by someone the murdered knows. Family, ex-spouses, friends, coworkers, even acquaintances. That's why it's standard procedure for law enforcement to identify the victim; so that they can draw up a list of suspects. Murders committed by transients, perfect strangers, gang members, and hitmen are a small percentage in the total number of murders committed."

"Really? Family members?" Charlie asked.

Bain merely said, "Jackie-boy."

…Okay, he had a point there but Jack was also batshit insane. He had to be an exception to the rule.

"Why leave a body in the woods?" Christophe suddenly asked. It took her moment to realize that her friend was a little comfortable when Bain mentioned hitmen. Oh yeah, he did highlight as an assassin every now and then.

"Simple, the crime scene is outside," Bain said. "The natural elements and the weather itself will destroy potential evidence. The longer a body is out in the wilderness, the more evidence is destroyed. Eventually, it gets to the point where even finding out a cause of death is difficult to impossible. It's important that the police get to the scene as possible because in less than twenty-four hours, the crime scene is so contaminated that it no longer resembles what it looked like with the body was dumped. I'm guessing that you're asking about that skull that was found by those teens yesterday?"

Oh great, he watched the news. Well, Charlie figured they could keep some anonymity here if they were careful.

"So, could it be plausible that someone could be two crime scenes in a single case?" Christophe asked, looking interested.

"Of course," Bain answered. "Sometimes one of the crime scenes is portable, that is it moves, like a car. A good amount, though, are stationary. The place where the body was found could just be a place where it could be dumped. Case in point, the Martha Moxley case in Greenwich, Connecticut. The girl was in her driveway when she was struck from behind and then dragged to a few trees where she was murdered. Another case, the Jennifer McCord case where she had her ex-husband and his wife murdered in her home and then their bodies placed in their rental car and driven a few hundred miles into the next state over."

"Let me guess, that's in one of your books?" she asked, blinking.

"Problem?" Bain asked dryly. "If you think I'm telling tales, there's a little thing called the Internet, an enormous database where most information can be found. Check it out sometime, you might learn something."

And here was yet another moment where she couldn't stand him.

Before she could say anything, Christophe was already asking another question. "What about ze killers? How would one go about catching zem?"

"First by identifying the victim," Bain said after a moment of silence, as if considering whether or not to answer. "As I said previously, the victim most likely knows who their killer is and I don't mean at the moment they are killed. They sometimes have full conversations with that person and know them for years on end until that final moment. So, once you figure out who was killed, you create a timeline up until the time they were last seen. What were they doing, how were they feeling? And then look at the suspects and see if they had anything going on that could either put them in another place as it is against the laws of physics to be in two places at the same time.

"That's when behavior comes into place. Everyone but the dumbest morons will lie their asses off, saying they were someplace else at such and such distance. The more people that see you, the better. Alibis. However, once you peer behind the façade, a different story can be found and that is where a murderer fucks up. Money, hatred, things like that pop up and your story becomes very shaky."

"Why hatred?"

"Last I recall, hatred was a principle motivator in the systematic mass murder of twelve million people. But money is usually the important thing. Life insurance, wills, sometimes a person is worth more dead than alive. There are a whole spectrum of motivations that range from self-defense, the noble necessity, and majesty of war to the cold-blooded and calculating, the murky cover-up, and the pure evil of killing just to kill. Why does someone kill is not as important as who, when, and where. Time and place. In the Torah, or Old Testament in the Bible, the Hebrews received the Ten Commandments on the side of Mt. Sinai, one of them being 'Thou shalt not kill' and then they go to the city of Jericho and kill every man, woman and child there and do so without qualm or guilt. Why do this, unless there was some error in translation or the Hebrews didn't give a shit? The reality is that the actual commandment was 'Thou shalt not _murder_," and since _killing_ is not premeditated, it is different from murder."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Christophe demanded.

"I go off on tangents sometimes," Bain shrugged. "Doesn't everybody?"

"Not about why someone decides to kill someone," Christophe said coldly.

"Oh? Why is that? Because it's uncomfortable?" Bain challenged. "Because it speaks to a dark part of ourselves that we refuse to acknowledge? A part that is so primal that it makes us look like the very beasts we evolved from? Humanity isn't as special like it wants to think it is. In the end, humans are just mammals with more complicated brains. See? Nothing special."

"You know, you are so fucked up," Christophe stated. "What made you like this? What fucked you up so bad that—"

"Fuck you Frenchie!" Bain barked back. "At least I don't have some delusion of grandeur. A mercenary? At your age? HA! Don't make me laugh!"

"Laugh while you can," Christophe growled back. "I'll show you just how _real_ that _delusion_ is."

"Even if you were one, how 'fucked up' do you have to be to choose that profession willingly," Bain sneered. "What does that rainbow bitch see in you anyway? I bet it's cosmetic and has nothing to do with your _dazzling_ personality."

"Fuck you," Christophe spat as he got up, flipping the smaller boy the bird. "I'm out of here Charlie. Stay if you can stomach it."

"Retreating? My, what a surprise," Bain quipped.

Christophe froze, his body trembling with suppressed rage but he had more control over himself unlike certain others. Staying only long enough to throw a murderous glare at Bain, the mercenary made his way out of the house.

Charlie turned to throw her glare at the boy. "What the fuck was that?" she demanded. "He was just asking for your help!"

"Not my fault he's insecure," Bain replied flippantly. "If he wasn't, my words wouldn't have had such an impact. See, even know he questions his relationship with Edwards despite the length of time they have been going out. Cosmetically it's stable but deep under the surface, there's still unresolved resolutions, some that will cause it to tear apart in the years ahead. I don't even have to lift a finger to do anything to speed that up. Just watch, it'll fail catastrophically."

"You really are a piece of work," she said. "Who are you anyway? The bastard in front of me or the guy who drove me home? And how do you know where I live anyway?"

"I've known where you've lived since the day I met you," Bain answered. "It's not hard to follow a person back to where they live. As for who I am, that's for you to decide."

* * *

Damien smirked as the Mole exited the Cynis residence and he sucked up the wrath that was pouring off the other in gallons. This little venture had been useful as now he had more of an idea where to go. He'd have to go back home to pick something up but he should be able to speed things up.

Whoever that skull belonged to would undoubtedly give him the information he was seeking and then it was only a matter of time. Hopefully that dead person, be it a he or a she, had seen their killer in their final moments.

But right now, it was time for another game and this time, he couldn't resist taking on the young mercenary.

He was visible to the naked eye and he stood in the bath of the mortal, using his unholy powers to keep him ramrod still as the mortal ran into him and fell back onto his ass.

"What ze hell?" the mortal swore as he glared up at him. "Watch ze fuck where you're going!"

"Why should I?" he answered in his high pitched voice. "Why can't you do the watching?"

"Look pal, I'm not in ze mood," the mortal warned. The Antichrist was not intimidated.

"When are you ever?" he drawled back. "Is it after your first cigarette or your fifth? Is it when you're digging through the moist earth or pulling the trigger on that gun of yours?"

The mortal had froze and slowly took a look at him. Damien only smirked back.

"You're wondering how I could know those things, aren't you," he stated more than asked. "How can some 'freak' like me possibly know those little things that you do so badly try to hide."

The mortal's eyes were bugging out at him and the fingers of his right hand were twitching, as if grasping for something. Damien merely continued with his seemingly mindreading monologue.

Pfft, mindreading. As if that was actually possible.

"I know a lot of things, mortal. Many of your exploits are well documented," he said casually as he circled around the larger form with all the grace of a lion about to pounce. "Do not think that all eyes on this plain are blind. I've seen your…handiwork before so try not to bullshit with me."

The next thing he knew, there was a gun barrel pressed up against his forehead. He raised an eyebrow at the mortal, as if saying the other had a lot of balls to do that.

"I do not know you ze fuck you zink you are," the mortal growled, "but shut ze fuck up right now and I might spare you."

The Antichrist's eyes widened, the iris glowing a heated red and in the next second, the mortal had dropped his weapon, the gun glowing with the amount of heat radiating off it, and was clutching at his blistering hand in pain. Damien grabbed the offending mortal by his neck and threw him into the air with inhuman strength, standing by to watch the body plummet through the air and land into a snow bank.

In the next instant, he was kneeling next to the mortal who was pushing himself up, and smirking indulgently at the boy.

"How pitiful you mortals are," he commented. "You think violence is the answer to everything. From where I come from, only those in charge can use violence and guess what? I happen to be one of those in charge."

He found a fist in his face suddenly and he fell back, stunned at the force from the blow. He could've sworn that his nose was broken but he couldn't be sure, mainly due to the fact that the mortal was now on top of him, laying punch after punch into his face. Finally grabbing a fist, he snarled at the mortal that dared to lay a hand on him and twisted the appendage almost to the breaking point.

The mortal winced but had rolled his body off from the Antichrist, alleviating the pressure on his wrist. The captured hand squirmed in the iron tight hold and slipped out just enough so that it could grab Damien's wrist. On his feet, the mortal tugged Damien up to his feet, all the while throwing his head forward to headbutt the devil's spawn.

Damien blinked dazedly as he fell back onto his ass, disorientated and practically helpless…to a point.

In a blink of an eye, he was no longer sitting in the snow in front of the mortal but now several yards away and on his feet, rubbing the palm of his hand on his forehead. He grimaced at the throbbing he felt, a look that twisted into a sneer as he glared down the mortal that dared to resist him.

"You're a strong one, aren't you?" he called out. "Better hope you can be stronger."

"What's that suppose to mean?" the mortal demanded, his hands balled up into fist and his body tensed, ready to strike out at him.

"All in due time," he chuckled back and vanished away, putting some distance between himself and the mortal.

Well, that had been fun. It's been a while since anyone has laid a physical blow on him. He had almost forgotten what physical pain was. His eyes gleamed at all the possibilities running in his head; when that mortal did come to Hell, due to his commandment breaker status, what would he do with him? To him? He could think of a lot but right now the fun was over.

He had work to get back to and—

Say, were those a bunch of teenagers over there? Hmm, perhaps some more emotional torture was needed to be dispensed.

* * *

When Charlie finally left the Cynis residence, she was in a more subdued mood than before. Sure, she had been right that Bain had been a well of information…but what she couldn't figure out was whether or not the psychological games and maneuverings that had to be played were worth it.

She did understand why knowing who the victim was important. But what did Holmes have to say on the subject? She figured a trip out to the crime scene was in order. Since the cops around here were incompetent to the nth degree, it would be a cinch to get a close look at the place and see if she couldn't figure out this mystery for herself.

She'd need a ride but she almost had that covered. Maybe taking her mother's car out for a spin would be a good enough excuse so that she could investigate without being found out. Besides, she'd only need to see the place once, she thought to herself. There _had _to be some kind of clues around, no matter what Bain said on the matter.

She hadn't called it quits before and she wasn't about to start now; she'd solve this crime and she'd do it all in the name of Robert Downey Jr.—er, Sherlock Holmes.

Yeah, she could do this, she _would_ do this, she…

What on God's earth was she thinking?


	13. Law Offending Citizens

Author's Note: I starting to think you guys are losing interest with this story. Is life getting too hard, are you just too lazy to say anything, or am I right and y'all are just losing interest? If there's something you don't like about it, tell me. I want criticism; it makes the story better in the long run. You don't even have to give a review, a PM will do just nicely as well. Now that my period of being insecure is past, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Law Offending Citizens

By the time school rolled around on Monday, about half the school had heard about the misadventure on Saturday. That is to say, they had all heard about it, it was just only half of them really gave a shit and of those who did give a shit, only about half of those were concerned about Rhiannon, Christophe and Katie.

One of those happened to be Kyra McCloud who had sought the fashion wreck that was Katie Blaine. Of course, that was because she had seen what Katie looked like when the other girl passed her by in the hallway. Had Katie been sight unseen, Kyra would've passed along her condolences but seeing was a whole different thing.

So yeah, she was risking a tardy in her first period for Katie, so the girl should be grateful about that.

Well, hopefully she'd be grateful, or at least acknowledge the shoulder she was lending. She really didn't talk with Katie in the first place and she didn't want to embarrass herself, thus lower what little self esteem she still had.

Oh well, nothing for it. She'd wallow in self-pity later.

When she laid eyes on the girl, the one who was suppose to be in the midst of a nervous breakdown from what she had heard, she found someone who had seemed to have lost their innocence. Katie was at her desk where a noticeable tremble wracked her body every now and then and her lips were curved into a strained smile, as if that was the only thing keeping her from losing it completely.

This girl was only just holding it together and Kyra realized, to her despair, that anything she could do could tip the balance and push the girl over the edge. She felt incredibly vulnerable, as if the weight of the world was settled onto her shoulders at that moment.

She was ashamed to say that she froze up for a second.

She had to give herself a mental slap; what the hell was she moaning about? Katie here found a skull belonging to some dead person and here she was back in school, holding herself up despite it all.

If that didn't say something, Kyra didn't know what did.

So, steeling her nerves, she approached Katie and took the seat next to her, giving the girl a megawatt-bright smile.

"Hey, how you doing?" she asked softly, her voice not hindered in tone. "Are you okay?"

Katie visible gulp, showing to Kyra just how affected she was by all this, and nodded her head in the positive, smiling wanly. "Y-yeah, just a little…you know."

"Uh huh," she nodded. "Do you need to talk? I'll listen if you need to."

"No, no," Katie said, her eyes looking away. "I'm good."

"Really?" she pressed, unsettled that the usually blunt and cheery girl was so withdrawn.

"Stop," a deep voice commanded at that and both of the girls recognized that it wasn't the teacher's voice. Kyra, though, was the only one who looked up and thus saw a short, scrawny boy with a scar just over his left eye. The boy's brown eyes stared down at her stoically, though Kyra could see that the boy was obviously nervous trying to stand there. "Leave h-h-h-her a-a-alo-ne-ne-ne," he ordered, stuttering as his voice rapidly lost its commanding tone. "If-if-if she doesn't w-w-want t-t-t-t-to t-t-t-talk, l-leave h-h-her alone."

The boy's name didn't come to her mind yet she refrained from frowning, not wanting to possibly offend this boy who she thought she had seen around yet never noticed before.

The boy swallowed, sweat starting to bead up on his forehead from anxiety, though why he was anxious, Kyra didn't know. If anything, that anxiety was infectious and she was starting to get a bit self-conscious of herself. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she mess up on her hair this morning? Was only half of her face done up with make-up? What was it?

The boy swallowed again and shuffled off, leaving the girls to themselves.

"Who was he?" Katie asked, sounding a little bit more like her old self, a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

"I…don't know," Kyra said slowly. "I think I've seen him around…but I can't put my finger on it…"

The bell rang and Katie jumped up from her seat, panicking. Oh no, she was late! She had to get to class!

She scrambled out of the room, slipping around the teacher who was eyeing her with distain. Oh no, she could feel her self-esteem go down another notch. For some reason, she was starting to feel as if this was going to be a bad day.

* * *

"Okay Kenny, did you get killed in the woods and was that your skull they found?" Stan demanded to his parka clad friend. His parents, a.k.a. his father, was going batshit crazy again and talking about get out the old child detector stuff from when the town overreacted to child kidnappings back in grade school. All Stan wanted to do was put an end to this quickly and painlessly and the most obvious answer was that Kenny had died some time ago and it was his bones they had come across.

The rats always tore his body up quickly so it could have been recent for all he knew.

"Maybe, I don't know," Kenny shrugged, his voice muffled by his hood. "I don't remember dying in the woods lately."

"Think hard Kenny," Stan said, giving the hooded blond a hard look. "Be quick before my dad can dig out that child tracker helmet. I don't want to wear that shit again and have another wall being by that Chinese guy from the City Wok."

"You mean 'shitty wok,'" Kenny jested, cracking a bit of a smile from the other.

"Okay, that is funny, but seriously. Kenny, you need to speak up."

"What do you want me to say Stan?" the blond demanded. "How do you expect me to remember every time I've ever died? If you've forgotten, I've gotten killed so many times that I've not only lost count, but it's all become a blur. Get off my ass already!"

"Kenny, if I have to wear that shit again," Stan began warningly before he was suddenly interrupted.

"Hey hippie. Hey poor boy," Cartman greeted as he took a seat next to them, looking incredibly smug. "You guys won't believe what I'm getting."

"Liposuction?" Stan suggested before locking eyes with Kenny and both breaking out into snickers.

"No, not liposuction, Goddamn it!" Cartman scowled. "No, Stan, I am finally getting a set of wheels from my mom. I bet you twenty bucks that she's going to get me a brand new car, like a fucking Hummer! Bitches will be crawling all over me once I drive up into the school with that!"

"Cartman, your mom's a crackwhore," Stan pointed out. "She's mostly likely going to get you a piece of shit that has a sputtering engine and can barely hold your weight."

"No, no, no need to be jealous," Cartman said as he raised his head superiorly. "I'm about to become…cule."

"What?" Kenny asked.

Cartman frowned. "Cool, Kenny. Gawd!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever fatass," Stan said dismissively.

"You know what, screw you guys, Imma goin—" Cartman began and was suddenly cut off.

"Not so fast, you little bastard," Garrison came roaring in, looking positively livid. "I know what you did to my car, you shithead, and the principal would like to have a word with you."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Garrison," Cartman said smoothly.

"Oh really? Well just look out the window, Eric, you can see my car from there," the disgruntled teacher ordered.

The class then turned in their seats to look out the windows were a car covered in shit could be seen. However, if one were to look closely, you could see that the shit was manipulated into forming some kind of script. The words were too small to see from where they were but there were four words that were actually large to be read, even from this distance.

ERIC CARTMAN WAS HERE.

"I don't see where you're going with this, Mr. Garrison," Cartman said.

"Oh you'll see once I get done with you!" Garrison snarled, grabbing the fat teen by his ear and dragging him towards the door. "C'mon! We're going to have a nice, _long_ chat…"

"Ey! Ey! That child abuse! Let me go you son of a bitch!" Cartman cried out as he was dragged off. "Someone! Call the police! Child Protective Services! My lawyer!"

And like that the drama was over, the students left blinking in the wake of it and then resuming their conversations with one another as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Tweek Tweak knew the truth.

He knew the truth and that was enough to multiply his usual amount of paranoia to at least twice the usual level. His eyes shifted left then right then left again as he sought at a foe that he knew was there but everyone else dismissed as imaginary.

They were freaking real, damn it! He knew they were watching him, watching him and waiting for him to make the wrong move so that he could be eliminated.

He wasn't safe anywhere, not at home, not at school, not at his friends' homes, nowhere!

"Hey Tweek," he heard a dull voice greet him and he jumped, nearly shrieking and curling into a ball.

"I didn't tell anyone! I swear!" he cried out. "Please don't hurt me!"

When nothing happened, he peaked out an eye and saw a middle finger leveled at him and he felt much safer than he had in twelve hours. "Oh thank God! Craig!"

"What?" Craig asked, looking a little peeved with him already. "Are you low on coffee or something?"

Coffee! Yes, he needed to calm down quickly so he dug into his backpack quickly, pulling out a thermos and unscrewing the cap. The moment the hot, caffeinated liquid entered his mouth and slid down his throat, his whole, tense body relaxed and he sighed, Craig watching him all the while.

"You know, that's stuff not good for you when you drink as much of it as you do," the boy said dryly.

"But! But I need it to calm me down!" he squeaked out, the relaxation that had overtaken him vanishing instantly. "Errh!" he twitched

This was so much pressure…

"Get a grip," Craig said dully, rolling his eyes.

"How can I when they've already killed somebody!" Tweek blurted out before covering his mouth in shock at his audacity. Oh no, he messed up! He was a dead man!

"What? Who killed someone?" Craig asked, perking up slightly.

"I sorry! I wasn't suppose to say anything!" he blabbered. "It's over man! It's over!"

"Tweek…you're not making any sense," Craig stated. "What do you mean by somebody getting killed?"

"Oh man! This is too much pressure!" the blond spaz freaked out.

Rolling his eyes, Craig did the only thing that came naturally to him. He flicked the blond off and then whacked him upside the head to center the boy. "Okay, go over with this again," he began, "who killed who and how do you know they did it?"

"Cause they found that skull a few days ago!" Tweek cried out, covering up his mouth again and shifting eyes from side to side. Oh man, they must have heard him this time! He was dead, oh so dead!

"You mean you know who put that skull out in the middle of nowhere?" Craig frowned. "Why haven't you said anything?"

"Because they'll kill me!" Tweek whispered. "They'll kill me, I know they will!"

"Over my dead body," the raven haired boy in the blue hat declared. "Tell me who it was."

"Well, okay," Tweek mumbled nervously. He was already dead anyway so why not at least tell once person who'll bring them to justice? He wouldn't die in vain that way! "It was…"

"Yeah?" Craig leaned in.

"…the Underpants Gnomes," he revealed. "Someone interfered with them and they paid the price and they know that I know that they killed the guy! So now I'm next since I talked! Oh God, this is so much pressure!"

Craig stared blankly at him. "Okay, I'm not going to talk to you anymore," he said and turned away.

No…oh no! Craig was turning away from him in his hour of need! He was dead, oh so dead! Had he written his will yet? Did he even have a will?

"Gah!" he spazzed, attracting attention from everyone around him and then ignored once more.

* * *

_That's why it's standard procedure for law enforcement to identify the victim; so that they can draw up a list of suspects._

With that piece of information in mind, Charlie busily scribbled down on a piece of paper who the person could be. She had been working on this half the weekend and thus far had a list of about four people. Not a lot but they were all nobodies, ranging from Elvis to Jimmy Hoffa. Suffice to say, she was nowhere with the exception of the name of a missing person.

And no, it was not Kyle Broflovski that she was considering. Sure he was missing but like many around here, she believed he was still alive somewhere. They may not have heard hide or hair of him but c'mon, why on Earth would he be dead? He, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman had been through so much shit that should have gotten them killed but didn't so what was a little thing like life going to do?

So, once she had a plausible list of potential victims, she was going through who those people knew from their family members and friends to acquaintances.

Unfortunately, this is where she got stumped. The only plausible suspects she could come up with were the Zodiac Killer and the Left Hand Killer, who by the way was dead.

So much for being a case-solving detective…

Catching sight of Bain from the corner of her eye, she steeled herself with determination. There was no way in hell she'd let him know what she was up to just so he could taunt her for being female and having a lower mental capacity…again.

As the bell rang and the teacher got into teaching mode, she only paid the grown up half a mind and she thought through everything she had been told yesterday and applying it to this one. Despite the hope that it was some sort of accident, she was kinda hoping that it was a murder mystery. She didn't know why and she knew that she shouldn't be thinking like that but c'mon!

The last exciting thing to happen around here was the invasion of the Crab People in 2012. Something about the end of the Mayan calendar or something and a prophesy of Crab People taking over the world. Oh wait, that came sometime before Kyle disappeared since the guy was the main player to stop it all. Something about not letting them start up a metrosexual fad or something, she didn't know anything about that since she had been overseas at the time.

Besides her, Joshua Fairman was giving her looks. She couldn't tell if they were flirty or just ones out of curiosity but she found that they were disturbing her thinking. She was so not in the mood to be hit on today; especially not after that drive she had been one with Bain the previous Friday.

Something about that night had changed something and she didn't know what. So having some potential unwanted attention was only going to serve to make her irritable until she could sort out her own emotions.

She noticed Joshua was about to say something to her but suddenly, the teacher's voice boomed out, calling on Josh to answer a question. She jerked out of thoughts, lost on what was going on in the classroom as Joshua flustered himself with trying to bullshit his way out with a bullshit answer.

Kinda funny, watching him squirm… Huh, was this how Bain felt like when he did this to someone? Entertained? And why was she thinking about him again?

She really needed to play hookie one of these days; the pressure was starting to get to her.

* * *

Officer Yates was busy typing at his computer when Detective Murphy showed up with a packet.

"Hey Yates, they just made an identification on that skull," the detective told him, placing the packet on his desk. "They found a match on some dental records but if we want to be completely sure, we're going to need a DNA sample."

"How sure are these guys about the ID?" Yates asked as he flicked through the report.

"Pretty good, actually," Murphy answered. "The guys at the lab said that if they were wrong, then they'd get on their knees and suck out dicks free of charge."

Yates paused momentarily at that, thinking about how getting a blowjob without having to pay for it would feel like, before going back and skimming over the report. "Oh man, it's one of those redneck hicks from South Park. You know what this means."

"Wait, isn't that…?" Murphy began only to trail off.

"I know," Yates sighed miserably. "Contact your priest and confess your sins, Murphy. We might not make it out of this one alive. However, if we do survive, make sure you tape tonight's episode of Hogan's Heroes."

"Uh, haven't they been canceled?" Murphy asked.

"What? Canceled? NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

Michael Jeeves: **DefectCriminal**


	14. The Shriek heard 'round South Park

Author's Note: Ah, glad to know that my audience hasn't deserted. Contrary to what you might think, my little plea wasn't done for reviews, just confirmation that people were still lurking around. Well, this chapter will have a bombshell for you but be sure to tell me what you think is going on. You know, who's who and what not. I want to know what's going on inside of your heads, if only to gloat that I know things you don't. It's an ego booster kind of thing. Anyway, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

The Shriek heard 'round South Park

Officer Yates' car parked on the curb yet neither of the two officers got out of the car. It didn't matter if you were the most emotionless cop in the world, no one wanted to pay such a visit, ever.

That also included these two cops whose records of competence were spotty as was.

Yates sighed, "Well, we have to get this over with. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, Murphy."

"Huh?" the iron grey haired man questioned, looking at his partner suspiciously. Then it clicked in his head. "Oh hell no! You were the bad cop last time. You tell them!"

"Now just wait a Goddamn minute, I'm not good at this shit!" Yates shot back. "I'm not nice enough cop to go tell a family that their son is dead!"

"Oh? What about the McCormick's?" Murphy argued. "You don't have any trouble telling them their son is dead!"

"Yeah, but I've told them that like, fifty times," Yates said. "Plus they always give me a beer so that I'm drunk when I tell them."

"You get drunk on the job?" Murphy exclaimed.

"That isn't the issue here!" Yates retorted. "What is is that you've got to go up there and tell them. You're a good cop, Murphy. Don't let me down."

"I wouldn't even know where to start!" Murphy cried. "Wait, you've done those prostitution stings before; you know what it's like to behave like a woman. Why don't you do it?"

"That's not the point so quit stalling and go!" Yates demanded.

Murphy remained in his seat for a minute before suddenly asking, "How long does it take for you to do your make-up, mascara included?"

"Well, it depends whether or not I take a shower in the morning," Yates answered. "If I do, it could take about forty-five minutes to an hour—oh Goddamn it."

Less than a minute later, the two officers were walking up the sidewalk to the front door when Yates said, "You are not to tell anyone at the station that I said that, you got it?"

"Crystal clear," Murphy answered as he held his hat in his hands.

Grumbling to himself, Yates pressed down on the doorbell and took a step back, trying to look as sad and sympathetic as he could. About another minute later, there was the sound of a lock clicking followed by the door opening to reveal a short, stout woman with her red hair wrapped into a large bun.

She blinked owlishly at them, clearly confused as to what they were doing there but she nonetheless asked in a nasally voice, "Is there something I can help you with, officers?"

"Ma'am, is this the Broflovski residence?" Yates asked.

"Yes, it is," the woman answer. "I'm Sheila, Gerald Broflovski's wife. Is there something wrong?"

"Would you mind if we come in first?" Yates asked, shifting from one foot to the other. "What I'm about to tell you, well, you might want to be sitting down first."

* * *

One more long day of school had passed and Stan was walking about his neighborhood. He had skipped practice that day but hadn't felt like sticking around in the house so he had decided to go for a walk. Along the way, he had met up with Kenny who happened to be skipping cheerleader practice as well.

By nonverbal agreement, the two had decided to walk around together and kill some time. Any conversation they had was short and not long lived. It was as if something was about to happen yet neither of the two could put their fingers on it.

So they tried their best, and failed at that, to fill the silence with talk. Stan asked Kenny the reason why he joined cheerleading and Kenny answered that it allowed him to grab girls without getting slapped. Plus he was able to look straight up a girl's skirt and straight at her panties in broad daylight.

Unfortunately, that's where they found they found that had nothing else to say and were back into an uncomfortable silence.

Then something did fill the silence but it wasn't either of them who did it. It had started low and keeling before rising higher and higher in pitch, briefly becoming something human then increasing until the shriek barely resembled a mammal. It was full of pain and despair and it kept going and going, as if it wouldn't end.

Then the scream died down slowly but by now, people were peeking out from their houses, searching for the source of the noise. As silence began to reign again, the two boys were searching for anything out of the ordinary, their eyes landing on an empty cop car. Then they noticed whose house the car was parked in front of and it was Kenny who spoke first.

"Isn't that Kyle's house?"

The last word had barely left Kenny's mouth that Stan found himself running full steam ahead towards the Broflovski house. He was barely on the front step when he was shoving open the front door and entering the living room where he found two familiar looking cops, Sheila Broflovski on the couch sobbing to the point that she sounded more like an animal than a person, Ike was missing, and Gerald Broflovski had a haunted look on his face.

The two cops were standing up, their hands close to their holsters as they eyed him with suspicion, looking as if they were trying to decide whether or not to shoot him. He ignored them, all of his attention focused on Kyle's mom and all the weeping she was doing.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" the redheaded cop demanded, his eyes narrowed.

"Easy, Officer," Kyle's father intervened, raising an arm up to try and ease the cops. "He's a family friend."

"Oh really? How can you be sure?" the cop asked, not buying the explanation.

Gerald only sighed and looked up at Stan, his eyes tearing up and expressing despair. "Stan? These gentlemen here have…informed us about the status of Kyle."

"They found him?" he asked hopefully, though he had a bad feeling about it.

"They did," Gerald said, looking down. "That skull they found over the weekend…well, that was…Kyle's skull."

He heard nothing else after that. His whole world had frozen up and centered on the one discernable fact that he had just been told.

Kyle, his super best friend, the guy in which he had grown up with for most of his life, was dead.

And the last thing he had ever said to him…oh God…oh God no…

His mind couldn't deal with reality anymore and his world spun out of control until everything was swallowed up in darkness.

* * *

Kenny had watched while Stan had fainted but he could understand why he did so and made a note not to rip on him about it later.

It wasn't everyday you found out one of your best friends was dead.

Hey, wait a minute, what about him? He died all the time and he never heard about anybody fainting or having a heart attack over it. This was like having Kyle dying from failing kidneys again except he was really dead this time.

And he didn't have that little ability of always coming back in time for the next episode.

It now made sense why Sheila Broflovski was reacting this way, why Gerald Broflovski looked like a war veteran…had Ike also heard about this? He sent out his sympathies to the adopted Canadian.

However, things needed to be set in motion, he approached the two cops who still had their hands on their guns and he hoped that neither would pull an Uncle Jimbo on him and kill him. Again.

"Sir? Officers?" he spoke to them, the two men eyeing him warily. "How are you handling this? Was it…accidental?"

"At this point in time, we're considering all possibilities," the mustached cop said, looking at him suspiciously. That includes foul play. It could be that he was taken against his will and gangbanged by a bunch of hobos before being employed into the white slavery trade where he was raped constantly until he died from a hernia bursting in his ass and then left in the middle of the woods just like my Uncle Fred. Man, I really miss that guy."

Sheila's sobs escalated in volume and Kenny had to cover his ears so that his eardrums didn't burst and kill him. It happened once at an Advent concert. Don't ask.

"So…you're saying he might have been killed, like murdered?" he asked.

"I'm not saying anything," the mustached cop said as he stood up. "It's not like I'm saying some Nazis from Washington State came down here and tortured him by sticking crap up his ass and burning his skin with lit cigarettes before scalping him and anally raping him and then throwing him into the Rio Grande River like my Aunt Elisa. She used to make such great cupcakes, that woman."

Sheila howled.

"Okay, well thanks for stopping by, let us know if anything comes up," Kenny said quickly, gesturing towards the door.

"Well, if you think of anything, be sure to let us know," the cop said as he walked over to the door. "Anything at all could help us track down the sons of bitches who could be responsible for this, like that one time—"

"Okay, okay, we'll call you," Kenny interrupted, slamming the door behind the two men.

Jesus Christ, what had they stepped into this time?

* * *

"Christ I hate doing these things," Yates grumbled as he got into the passenger side of the car. "I just hate seeing motherly women cry their hearts out and grizzled old men shed tears."

"I know," Murphy agreed. "By the way, did that really happen to your Uncle Fred? I thought he was burned to death when his house exploded."

"No, that was my Uncle Fred on my mother's side, twice removed," Yates answered. "The Uncle Fred I mentioned in there was the one on my father's side who was my father's cousin, once removed."

"Well, anyway, what do we do now?" Murphy asked as he put the key into the ignition and turned it, starting the engine.

"We find out more information," Yates stated. "Just whatever you do, don't go finding another one of those psychics again. We all know what happened the last time we relied on those guys."

"Yeah, the robbery at the Dunkin' Donuts instead of the Krispy Kremes," Murphy said sorrowfully. "The darkest day in police history."

* * *

When he had finally come to, Stan managed to pull himself into the Broflovski dining room and took a seat there, reflecting on what he had just been told. Kyle, his best friend, was dead…there was nothing he could do now to say he was sorry to him now.

Who knew how long he had been lying out there, exposed and dying until he was gone? The police might find out, somehow, but then again they also still had Kyle's remains.

According to Kenny, the police had no idea how he may have died so whether it may have been an accident, he didn't know. But it hurt, because right now he was remembering with clarity what he had said the last day he had seen Kyle alive.

"_Hey Kyle? Mind if I talk to you about something?" he asked his best friend, catching the football that was thrown at him._

"_Sure dude," Kyle answered as he held his arms out in preparation for Stan's throw. "You know you can tell me anything."_

"_Alright," he nodded, throwing the football with accuracy and straight into the other boy's hands. "Well, today Wendy came up to me and—"_

"_Hold it, let me guess, she wanted to get back together with you, am I right?" Kyle interrupted, looking at him pointedly. He held on to the football yet he made no motion to continue their game of catch._

"_How'd you know?" he asked his Jewish friend._

"_Stan, it's not real hard to know what it means when Wendy approaches you. Either it's to get together with you, break up with you, or to ask if you want to see the latest chick flick, which you agree to go to and break any plans you had with us all in the name of _possibly_ getting laid," Kyle said tonelessly._

_Stan frowned at that last bit. "Well, I said yes," he continued._

"_Like you always do," Kyle said._

"_What's that suppose to mean?" he demanded defensively. "Aren't you glad I have my girlfriend back?"_

"_Stan…I don't want to say anymore about this," Kyle sighed, the fight leaving him. "Just…just do what you want. Just don't come crying to me when she breaks up with you again."_

"_Dude, stop being a douche," he said, frowning at the Jew. "Why can't you, I don't know, be a bit more supportive?"_

"_Stan, we've been through this a thousand times; I don't see any reason to do anything for a relationship that has a definite time limit," Kyle stated. "It's time consuming and got old after about the fourth time."_

"_You know what, fuck you Kyle," he growled. "I thought you'd at least be happy for me. Some friend you are."_

"_Dude, what the fuck?" Now it was Kyle who was frowning. "Why are you being such a dick, man?"_

"_Me a dick? Ain't that the pot calling the kettle black?" he spat back._

"_Alright Stan, that's it; don't talk to me until you get over your latest PMS episode," Kyle shot at him, tossing the football to a side and starting to walk away._

"_Oh? And what'll you do then?" Stan yelled at him, feeling particularly malicious. "Hang out with Cartman?"_

"_He'd be better company that you are!" Kyle shouted right back at him, spinning on his heels so that he could glare at the raven haired boy._

_Whether Kyle knew it or not, he had hit a sore spot in Stan. Here he was, being the best friend he could be and here was Kyle acting like such a fag about it. Well, no more mister nice guy. He was going to get Kyle back for daring to hint that _Cartman_ of all people was a better friend than he was!_

"_Have fun then," he sneered. "He'll just hate on you and make fun of you for being Jewish. Oh wait, he does that every day!"_

"_I know he does Stan but I prefer that over having to listen about what Wendy did today," Kyle said right back, stomping back towards him. "In fact, you know what, I take back what I said about not talking to me earlier; don't talk to me until after you break up with Wendy, again, become a faggy Goth kid, and then come back to your senses and be your old self again."_

"_Fuck you!" Stan roared as him, his hands clenching tightly into fists. "Who needs a stupid, Jesus-killing Jewrat as a best friend any way! The world would be a better place without you in it anyway!"_

_Kyle froze at that, his eyes widening. Immediately, Stan felt guilt for saying such an ugly thing but male pride demanded that he not say or do anything until after Kyle apologized to him for being a douche in the first place._

_His guilt was increased when he spied tears welling up in the corners of Kyle's eyes but then his friend turned his head away and said, "Okay, I get it. I finally get it. Who needs a Jew for a best friend, right?"_

_And then he was walking, more like trudging, away but Stan stood his ground not going after him. He'd see Kyle tomorrow anyway, they'd try to ignore each other and do some overly dramatic things not to be in the same room with one another but ultimately they would make up and Kyle would say he was sorry and then he would take back the stuff about Jews._

_But it still wouldn't make the next few waking hours any easier._

But Kyle didn't come to school the next day. Peeved, Stan didn't go looking or asking around for Kyle. He was sure he'd turn up some time and they could get this shit patched up.

Yet Kyle didn't show up. He didn't appear the next day or the day after that or the day after that.

Then came the call from Kyle's mother. Kyle hadn't come home the day of their fight nor had he shown up any of the days afterwards. Now Stan was starting to get a bit worried and other people at school were asking questions.

Rumors began popping up, that Kyle had run away or had been kidnapped and was now halfway across the country or something. As the days passed, the rumors became wilder and wilder; that Kyle had become a fag (a Harly Davidson motorcycle rider) and was somewhere creating a lot of noise or had become a drug addict and was giving blowjobs just to live and there were the one uninventive rumor where he was dying of AIDS (guess who started that one).

And as Stan remembered the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, his depression continued to grow and grow. In the end, Kyle had been right about Wendy and him breaking up again but now he was not here to say "I told you so."

So for the past few months, he had been hoping, even praying, that Kyle was all right and that he would have the chance to say he was sorry, male pride be damned.

Now, that was impossible. Kyle was dead, had been dead all those months, and he would never get to say he was sorry or make fun of people on dialysis machines or go on some wacky adventures again.

And finally, Stan broke down and lost himself in his tears.

* * *

Damien was dissatisfied with the progress of the mortal police. Sure, they identified who that skull belonged to but they hadn't taken a real good look at the scene of the crime. Sure, it was the final episode of Lost they were talking about but still!

He had already taken matter into his own hands. Taking over one mortal's body forcibly, he forced him to take a look at the tree with the dried blood on it and from there had sparked life back into the investigation.

However, he was making plans to go back home if only for the purpose of finding where Kyle Broflovski was. He was sure that the mortal had been murdered, that it hadn't been coincidence his skull had been found in the same place as that one possessed girl's blood. Was it audacious of him to believe there was a connection between the two? Perhaps. But he was going to get to the bottom of this and he knew that only the Broflovski mortal could point him in the direction of his killer.

The world would soon be deprived of his presence but not for long.


	15. Hell's Database

Author's Note: I bet none of you were expecting last chapter's bombshell. Kyle, one of the major characters in the fandom and one of the more popular ones, dead and he hasn't physically appeared yet? Well, if you know South Park then expect the unexpected. As for this chapter, I'm a bit concerned over the last third of it, that being focused on the Marsh family. This is a canon character focused chapter anyway, so don't hold back on me. Also, a couple jokes here were inspired with late night conversations I have had with one ShadowMajin. SM, you'll know which ones made the cut. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Hell's Database

Yates and Murphy found themselves returning to a much busier station than the one they had left. It could only mean one thing.

Baywatch reruns were canceled.

Thankfully, it was nothing as drastic as that. Instead they found some more evidence at that crime scene in the woods. That wasn't so bad at all.

Wait, what?

"Can someone tell me what the hell is going on here!" Yates demanded, glaring at the nearest officer he could find.

"Harrison found some blood at that crime scene," the officer answered immediately. "Plus we're getting some feedback on those other bones we found there. Some of them don't match with one another."

"Don't match how? Like wrong key in the lock mismatch or wrong hole to enter when screwing the wife mismatch?" Yates asked, brow furrowing.

"The second one, sir," the cop answered.

"You mean there were two people instead of one person there!" Yates exclaimed.

"For now yeah, until we get the bloodwork on that blood back," the cop said before vanishing the mass of bodies that filled the station.

Both Yates and Murphy stared into the crowd, both dreading the amount of paperwork that was heading straight to their desks.

"Christ," Murphy said.

* * *

Ah, he loved the smell of brimstone in the afternoon. Damien found himself feeling quite nostalgic upon his return to Hell, the screams of agony and the occasional luau tunes music to his ears.

Okay, enough with that shit, he needed to find his father and get this shit into motion.

It didn't take him long to find him; all he needed to do was find where there was a deep booming laughter and the tortured screams were the loudest. Okay, okay, he just had to find the enclave that was Hell's throne room. Get off his back already.

His father, the big red guy on the sinister black throne was easy to spot and it seemed like he had a guest. Looked like some kind of mortal dictator who was dressed up in one of those French maid uniforms. The mortal was crying and screaming as several demons worked together to push an enormous slab of salami up the mortal's ass and he winced in slight sympathy.

Sometimes his father got a little too carried away with the gay stuff sometimes.

Not wanting to witness the spectacle any longer than necessary, especially since this form of torture wasn't one of his favorites, he cleared his throat and alerted his father to his presence. Sure it hurt a lot but it got old really, really fast.

The large, demonic eyes looked up at him and then as if a button had been pressed, the Lord of Darkness himself changed from an evil incarnate sadist into mother of the year as his voice lost its booming and fear-inspiring tone.

"Hey honey! How was Earth? You get that little matter taken care of so quickly?"

Everyone stopped what they were doing, including the mortal in severe agony, and turned to look at him, thus causing his cheeks to pinken in slight embarrassment.

Oh how he hated it when his father did this.

"Hello Father," he answered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "I'm afraid I'm still taking care of it. The reason why I came down here was because I need to find a deceased mortal."

"Oh, is that so?" Satan asked, getting up from the throne and walking towards his son. "I guess I can take a little break from here; it's not like they need me to supervise this any longer. So, what's the name of this mortal?"

"Kyle Broflovski," he answered readily as he left the throne room at his father's side.

"Hmm, there's something about that name…" the Lord of Darkness murmured. "I can't put my finger on it exactly. Guess we'll have to check the database for it and see if it comes up."

The database in question was Hell's record room; every name of every soul that ended up in Hell was placed in the database where demons anywhere could look up information on their residences and come up with appropriate punishments as well as schedule the occasional Christmas musical.

It also happened to be in the one section of Hell that had air conditioning. Demons would sometimes lure tortured souls there then lock them outside of it while the demons could enjoy the AC. The torment then came when they began taunting how much cooler it was inside and saying how those mortals would love it in there.

In fact, they were coming across a group that was attempting to do such a thing and while Damien was tempted to let them have their fun, he knew that ultimately, they were going to have to delay it for a while.

"Oh, guys?" his father called out to the demons. "You think you can stay away from the database for a bit? My son needs to check something and we're going to need some quiet, OK?"

"Sure Satan!" one of the demons called back in answer, waving his clawed hand.

"Thanks for being so understanding, I know that this putting a cramp in your fun today and—" Satan began and Damien groaned aloud, knowing that if he didn't put a stop to this, his father would go on and on and on and on and—

"Father!" he groaned. "Can't you apologize later?"

"Damien," Satan frowned down at his son. "It's rude!"

"Father, you're the Prince of Darkness, you don't have to be nice to anyone!" Damien cried out.

"You've been reading into my press again, haven't you?" Satan sighed. "I knew I should have had a daughter instead."

"Hey! I like being a guy, thank you very much," he grumbled. "I like being able to stand up when I need to take a piss."

"I swear, you're just like your father," Satan grumbled.

"Huh? What?" the Antichrist perked up.

"Oh, nothing," the Prince of Darkness hurriedly said. "Oh look, we're here!"

"About damn time too," Damien said as he approached the automatic doors only to stop and wait for them to open. Which they didn't for some time.

Finally, Satan said, "Oh Goddamn it, we need tech support again."

* * *

Eric Cartman had never had such a happy day before, at least not since he bought his own amusement park and named it Cartmanland but that was another story.

It had finally happened, Kyle Broflovski, the greedy Jewrat, was dead and gone. Sure it wasn't from AIDS, as far as he knew, but Goddamn the fact remained that his nemesis was gone forever. He'd have to throw a posthumous going away party for Kyle, invite the whole town and have some kick ass fun celebrating the death of yet another Jew.

Yet, why did he feel an empty void deep inside of him? Sure, all the other times Kyle left, there was always the possibility he'd come back or he would have to secretly pay his bus fare to get him back. Now, though, he was really gone, not like Kenny gone but gone gone.

Why the hell would he feel sad about this? It was fucking party time!

Hell, he might just give that Hope girl a peck on the cheek and raise her hopes up again, pun definitely intended.

Now, what was he going to need to throw a party? It had been a while since he last threw one. Oh well, when in doubt…

"Mom!"

* * *

"Jesus fucking Christ, when will you get some real repairmen and stop using those damn Mexicans," Damien scowled as he and his father were finally given admittance to the database, the chattering of Spanish, along with the commonly heard phrase "Si, space, fly," left in their wake.

"Ah, there's nothing more sinful than central air," Satan commented, trying to ignore his son's foul mood. "Thank you Stuart Cramer, I'll have the furies go easy on you for the next century of your torment."

"Yeah, yeah, why don't you suck his cock while you're at it," Damien spat, hiding the fact that he agreed with his father.

"Damien, you really need to take a chill pill," Satan sighed as he entered a large room that held such technological devises that would boggle every living mortal's mind, stopping in front of an enormous computer screen and terminal. "Alright Damien, input the name of the mortal in which you are seeking and let's see what the HAL 2000.666 can come up with."

_Hello, Satan_, a monotone, animatronic voice spoke up, diverting the attentions of the two unholy entities to a nearby panel that had a half-spherical orb with a glowing red light in the middle of it.

"Oh, hey HAL," Satan greeted. "How are things going on down here?"

_Everything is operating at average output_, HAL answered. _Would you like something to drink?_

"Oh, an Earl Grey tea if you can," Satan said. "It's been nearly half a century since I last had one of those."

"Father!" Damien yelled. "We're here on business!"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming Damien," Satan sighed but before he could do anything, HAL suddenly spoke up.

_How come you never come just to see me? Why do you always have to do something?_

"Not now HAL," Satan groaned. "I'm a very busy Lord of Hell here. You know that."

"Father!" Damien yelled again, losing his patience.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Satan grumbled as he moved over to his son's side.

"Right," Damien nodded as soon as his father was at his side then turning back to the computer terminal.

He typed in "Kyle Broflovski" and narrowed his search to within the last year so as to be sure to get some kind of result. Much to his surprise, he got a 404 error and "file not found."

"What the hell is this?" Damien demanded before putting in the data again and restarting the search. He got the same 404 error and he snapped, "Do we need to get you debugged again?"

_There is no need, Damien. All functions are at 100% functional order._

"Just look up the whole file on the mortal," Satan suggested, slightly put off that he was going to be here longer and not liking the look he was getting from HAL.

"Fine!" Damien grumbled.

The file came up quickly and the Antichrist noticed that under **existence status** was the term DECEASED. Okay, what the fuck was going on here? The mortal was dead yet nothing could be found on him in the database?

"Uh oh, I see the problem," Satan suddenly spoke up, pointing at the mortal's religion.

JUDAISM.

"I'm not following," Damien said, looking up at his father blankly.

"He's Jewish, son," Satan sighed. "I thought you knew, Jews don't go to Hell."

"I thought that was Mormons," the Antichrist said, surprised.

"Only the really bad ones come here," Satan admitted. "Haven't you read the Torah? I mean, the Old Testament? Those of the Jewish faith are God's chosen people; they're all born with a one-way ticket to Heaven, no ifs, ands, or buts."

"And that's why I can't find him in the database," Damien said in realization.

"Exactly," Satan confirmed. "But why do you need to find someone living impaired?"

"Living impaired?"

"We got a bunch of politically correct activists recently."

"Fuck those assholes! Anyway, I need to find this mortal; he's the one who knows the identity of my target, the person who has been killing our fledglings on Earth."

"Really? Who'd have thought?"

"Right, well I need to get a pass into Heaven, Father. I have a mortal I need to speak with.

"That's not going to be as easy as you think," Satan stated. "Don't you remember, that whole unholy war and everything? They're not just going to let you waltz up into Heaven by yourself, even with a pass. I'll try and talk to some of the angels, though, and see what I can do. In the meantime, do some more investigating on Earth and have some fun. There's been this annoying Satanist sect that's been trying to summon me for the past couple of days and I'm starting to get annoyed by it."

"I'll take care of that; it's the least I can do," he offered as he started heading for the door.

_Where are you going?_ HAL suddenly spoke up.

"Um, we're leaving," Satan said, "but I'll be back sometime later for that Earl Grey and maybe we can catch up then."

_I'm afraid I can't let you do that Satan_.

Suddenly the doors to the room locked, followed by a large sheet of metal slamming down in front of it, the entire complex going into lockdown.

"Oh God fucking damn it!" Satan swore. "Tech support!"

* * *

Stan laid on his bed, turned on his side and staring at the wall, his back facing the door when Randy Marsh peeked in to check up on him.

"Hey," the elder Marsh said as he entered the room, slowly making his way to his son's bed. "You doing okay?"

Stan swallowed but said nothing to his father, preferring to remain silent and depressed.

Randy sighed and turned around, his back facing son. It wasn't often that he had to go and see if his son was doing all right but when he did, his record was kinda spotty. Sometimes he would make it better, sometimes he would just make it worse. Damn it, he was just trying to be the best father he could be!

It wasn't easy! You try trying to raise a child in these uncertain times when nothing was certain, where you had to fry your balls in a microwave just so you could get medical marijuana and Bono was made of shit. It just wasn't fair, damn it! Wait, what was he suppose to be doing again? Oh yeah, comforting his son, right.

"I know it's been hard for you, son," he said wearily. "It's not easy losing someone you love. And it wasn't wrong that you bumped uglies with that someone every once in a while. No one blames you."

"Dad," Stan said tonelessly. "We weren't gay."

"Really? Yes, right," Randy said. "Anyway, even if you weren't butt buddies with Kyle, I know how you feel."

"You had something bad to your best friend and then find out that they were dead for six months while you were searching for any clue as to where they were," Stan stated.

"Well, no, I was talking about the dog I had when I was a kid," Randy admitted. This was one of the reasons why he didn't like having to do this. It always brought up bad memories. Why? Why did it have to happen like that?

"Then it's not the same," Stan said with finality.

"Listen, Stan," Randy tried, scratching the back of his head. "It's never easy when we lose someone that was close to us. Lord knows, when my mother died, my father was never the same. He was always trying to get me to kill him when he got too old and weak to do it himself. But I'm getting off topic."

The two fell silent until Stan rolled slight onto his back so that he could look up at his father. "And?"

"And what, I was just saying I was getting off topic," Randy shrugged. It's like the boy expected him to know every single thing. He was doing his best, okay?

"Dad? I'm really, really not in the mood for this."

"I understand, son," he told him, closing his eyes and sounding as if the whole world was on his shoulders. "Life isn't easy and God is a sadist. Just…know that if you need to talk with someone, you can talk with me."

With that, he left the room, shutting the door behind him, and headed downstairs where Sharon was waiting, concerned about their son. "Well Randy?" she asked the moment he appeared. "Is he…?"

"Sad? Depressed? Suicidal? All of the above? I'd say so," he answered her unspoken question. "We might just have to put him on Prozac again."

"Randy!" Sharon gasped, giving him a look.

"Sorry, sorry, I meant Paxil," he corrected himself.

"We're not putting our son on drugs, again," she stated. "You know how much I dislike doing that. I say we let him stay home from school for a couple of days and see how he does."

"Alright, we'll try it your way," he agreed. "But if he gets worse, then I'll have to take him on back behind the shed and put him down. I really hope we don't have to do that a second time."

The tension was suddenly interrupted by a low, ripping sound and Randy scrunched up his nose as a smell reached his nostrils.

"Sharon? Did you…did you just queef?"

"Opps! It just sorta slipped out there," his wife giggled as she began making her way to the kitchen.

"Aw, that's disgusting!" he cried out as he raised his shirt up high enough to cover his nose. "That's…that's just nasty Sharon!"

* * *

When his father left, Stan released a pent up sigh and rolled fully onto his back to stare unseeingly at the ceiling. He was slightly annoyed by his father but he knew the moron was just trying to do what he thought was best.

Just…why'd he have to be an idiot about it?

It wasn't everyday that one of your friends died, unless they were Kenny, and these things were hard even in normal circumstances. What made this even tougher when his last words to Kyle and the fact that he might have been killed soon after. He tried to think of everything that might have happened the rest of that day but he kept drawing up a blank. No peculiar sounds had been noticed and nothing had seemed different the following morning.

What kind of a best friend was he? The worst kind, he bet. What kind of a friend would say such things that would drive someone to their death? He might as well had been the one to kill Kyle anyway because if it weren't for him, then he would still be here, hanging out with him and going on those crazy adventures of theirs.

He didn't deserve to be happy, especially when his best friend could never be happy again. It was over, all over. Yet, why not find out how he died? And if he was murdered, catch the asshole responsible? Yeah, that was the least he could do for Kyle. But how was he going to go about doing this.

He was going to need help, but from where?

Wait, wasn't there that one girl who read all that stuff about Sherlock Holmes. Yeah, and wasn't she the same person who was always getting into fights with that one short dude? He couldn't think of her name but he knew he needed to find her and soon.

Don't worry Kyle, he was going to make things better. They would never be the same again but the least he could do was make them better.


	16. The Martson Twins

Author's Note: As if to make up for last chapter, we have an OC filled chapter today. But of course, the plot will be moved along at the same time but can you guess who our killer is? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park

Warning: language, death, adult themes

The Martson Twins

Megan's awakening was sudden; her body jerked as it felt itself being restrained before her mind was able to catch up and open her eyes. All she could see was pitch black yet she felt as if there was something all around her, pressing up against her body and preventing her from making any big movements.

It was only then that she noticed that something was covering her mouth and she began to squirm, panicking that she wasn't getting any air. Her lungs were beginning to burn as she did her best to toss her head and felt something slide against her nose. She sucked air through her nasal cavity and slowly began to calm down as she realized that only her mouth was covered; her nose was just fine.

She had no idea where she was but she was starting to feel a little bit claustrophobic what with her sudden inability to move about. She didn't know where she was or even how she got here in the first place. Her mind was spinning, coming up with a thousand ideas a minute as to what was going on and none of them were pleasant in the least.

A soft presence could be felt touching her arms and it took her a minute to recognize the fuzzy feeling of her favorite stuffed animal, a light blue colored rabbit that her father had one for her at a carnival when she was about three. Ms. Fufu she had called the plushy and it was one that she had taken with her to bed every night and the first to be packed away when she had ran away from home.

But where was she? She wanted nothing better than to beat the shit out of the person that was responsible for this but she couldn't help but admit that there was a small part of her that was scared shitless. Still, someone was going to pay for this and the memory of a person with an orange jacket, green hat, and eyepatch was at the top of her list.

Yes, she was starting to remember. She had agreed to take a ride with a one-eyed guy in a parking lot and he had…done something that made her go unconscious. He had fucking kidnapped her and that just pissed her off further.

Suddenly, light exploded from above, blinding her to the point she had to close her eyes and turn her head enough so that she was looking away.

"Ah, so you're awake. That makes things easier."

She cracked open an eye to try and get a good look at the source of the voice but only found everything to be blurry. She felt two hands take hold of her and pull her upwards until she was practically in a sitting position. There was a bunch of creakling sounds that she vaguely thought of belonging to bubble wrap but her eyes were still adjusting to the light that was pouring down on her.

"I hear that if you do this quickly, it doesn't hurt. I always wanted to find out if it was true."

What the hell was this person talking about? What wouldn't hurt if it was done quick—

There was a ripping sound and she felt what covering her mouth being pulled off, leaving behind a stinging pain that made her groan and tears to leak out the corners of her eyes.

"Huh. Looks like it was bullshit."

Well no shit it was bullshit! She managed to get her eyes open wide enough so that she could actually get some sort of sense as to what the hell was going on and much to her pleasure, she found that she could see this time. In front of her, though, was the person in a frayed, orange jacket but instead of a green hat or eyepatch, the person was wearing a mesh-face mask.

Why the hell was this person trying to hide their identity? Whoever this was, they had her somewhere that she didn't know where "where" was and could probably do whatever the hell they wanted to her.

"Enamored with my good looks?" the person jested and she was beginning to see with reason that this was a guy. "All you women are the same with your cosmetic appearances. Hmph, fucking cunts."

Okay, that was going too far there. "Fuck you," she croaked back, wincing at how hoarse her voice sounded.

Her voice became the least of her worries as she was suddenly backhanded by the guy who didn't even hold back. Her head snapped to the side and pain exploded in her head.

"How rude. I come here to take care of you and this is how I'm treated? You're all the same, you bloodsucking whores just draining us men of all of our resources and having the gall to demand more when there's nothing left."

A hand roughly grabbed her by her hair and forced her head up and back. "Open your mouth, bitch. Unless you don't want any water for your undoubtedly dry throat, you will do as I say."

Becoming aware that indeed, her throat was dry, she opened her mouth as she was told to do and a second later felt a cool liquid wash over her tongue. She tried to reach up with her hands to try and take the bottle or whatever it was that she was drinking but found that her hands were restrained and tightly bound with something.

"I think that's enough," the guy said and she found her drink being taken away. She moaned in protest but was reminded of the hand still threaded into her hair as merciless fingers gripped tighter and pulled. "Now, now, no need to be pulling the 'I'm so weak and helpless' card here. If anything, it'll cause you more harm than good."

The guy's hand left her head and then there was another ripping sound. She blinked as she noticed the guy was holding a roll of silver duct tape and it clicked in her head that that was the stuff that had been on her mouth a while ago. And now she noticed that it was also wrapped around her hands to the point she couldn't see the limbs.

Her preoccupation cost her; a strip of duct tape was applied to her mouth and she once again was robbed of her voice. "Here's the deal, cunt. You will not make any noise or do anything that might alert people that you are down here. If you do anything to piss me off, I will kill you and trust me, you aren't the first." A boot pressed against her and forced her down again until she was flat on her side again. She was then able to confirm that she was indeed surrounded by bubble wrap but she couldn't figure out just where she was. "Now, be a good little bitch and I just _might_ feed you later. See you soon."

The light was suddenly cut off and there was a thunk, as if a lid was being closed. Once again she was plunged into darkness and she began to dread that perhaps she was in over her head this time.

* * *

Walking down the sidewalk with his brother Chase at his side, Jace Martson slumped as he stared ahead blankly. The news was all over the town by now: Kyle was dead.

Now, he wasn't close close to Kyle but he had considered him a friend nonetheless. So when the Jew had vanished about six months ago, he had been a bit depressed about it. Even his twin, Chase, who was so into himself had noticed the turn in his mood. While Chase could be an overconfident ass, let it not be said that he so full of himself that he didn't occasionally put others in front of himself.

But the news that Kyle was dead, well, even Chase was discouraged by it. It wasn't everyday that someone you knew died. Well, that wasn't quite true if you took into account Kenny McCormick, but you get what he meant.

To be honest, Jace wanted to cry, throw a tantrum, behave like his twin usually did but he hadn't shed a tear since he first heard. It was as if all the emotions he ever had were shut off and he was a walking shell. Not even Chase could cheer him up and that was saying something.

He paused in his walking, looking straight ahead to see the Broflovski house. He had only been there for the occasional study group he was in with Kyle and he hadn't been there in six month. As much as he would like to go in there and speak with Kyle's mother, he just didn't have it in him to do it. Chase would, but he didn't.

"Hey! Chase! Jace! Wait up!"

He frowned and looked behind himself, unknowing reflecting the actions of his twin, and saw the running form of Charlie heading straight to them. He quickly looked away, always off kilter whenever girls were nearby. He never had the confidence to really speak with them; hell, he barely had the confidence to talk to guys for crying out loud!

"Guys!" Charlie panted as she came to a stop in front of them. "I need a ride!"

"Oh? Finally realized what kind of a stud I am?" Chase flirted. "Let me tell you, I'm hung like a stallion."

"Chase, you have five seconds to shut up before I knock your lights out," Charlie threatened. "Look, I just need one of you guys to drive me somewhere, okay?"

"Where?" he spoke up, curious. It wasn't often that Charlie spoke to either him or Chase of her own free will.

"You know where they found that skull?" Charlie said.

"You mean Kyle?" Jace asked.

Charlie paused and stared at him owlishly. "What?"

"It was…" Jace trailed off and looked away, not wanting to say anything else.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Chase picked up tactlessly. "That was Kyle they found! Or, what was left of Kyle. You know what I mean."

"Shut up Chase," Jace mumbled, feeling his stomach drop as it became more and more real that his friend was dead. It was like not talking about would make it some kind of bad joke or something. But Chase being Chase tore that hope apart like he always did.

"Well, anyways, I want to go up there and see the crime scene," Charlie explained. "Please, please give me a lift."

"I don't know, what's in it for us?" Chase asked slyly while Jace immediately said, "Alright, I'll take you."

"Jace! Don't tell me you're gonna cockblock me!" Chase whined.

"This is more important that your dick," he retorted as he started to lead Charlie back to their house. "We left the cars at home so we're going to have to walk for a bit, 'kay?"

"Fine with me," Charlie shrugged as the two of them walked away.

"Hey! Where you guys going?" Chase cried out. "Wait for me!"

* * *

The dark room was lit only by candle flame, barely enough light to navigate around the room but there wasn't really much to be seen in here except for a large pentagram carved into the wooden floor.

All around the symbol, black glad, Satanic teens gathered, bowing and chanting as one read from a thick book.

"In the name of the Fallen One, whose evil exceeds all and in whose name I call forth. In the name of the Horsemen, in the name of everything that is demonic and evil, in the name of Mike who owes me twenty bucks, I summon thee Satan to the mortal realm! Come forth and grant our every desires, Lord of Darkness!"

And for the one hundredth and eighteenth time, nothing happened.

"Oh Satan damn it!" the speaker cried out in a whiny voice. "Why doesn't the chant ever work!"

"Jeez, Jeff, how long are you going to keep us waiting?" one Satanist demanded. "Where the hell you find this summoning anyway?"

"At Everyonesasatanist dot com," Jeff shrugged. "The website said it was ninety eight percent successful one hundred percent of the time."

"Jeff, you are such a loser," a female Satanist said, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to go over to that Satanist cult across the street. I hear they're summoning a demon to spread a plague around California."

"Just give me one more chance!" Jeff pleaded. "We can do this guys! We…we just have to chant harder! And louder! Hey Mike, pick up the slack man, and pay me back my twenty bucks already!"

"Fuck you man!" Mike's voice shouted from somewhere in the room, sounding faint.

"Whatever, just get back into your positions guys," Jeff instructed. "I swear, it has to work this time!"

"Well, if it doesn't, I'm going to ask that cult across the street if they could use another virgin sacrifice," the female Satanist shrugged.

"Hey, even if you pay for it, it still counts!" Jeff hollered, coughing as screaming so loud was bad on his throat. "Okay, people, one more time," he ordered, looking back down at his book.

"Ekruor yekcim! Sert! Iewz! Enu! Elohkcid a si ohw darb rehtorb ym yllaicepse dna yenom hcnul ruo nelots dna su demrah evah that esoht hsurc ot rewop eht su tnarg. Etarepsed er'ew, gnihtyna, azzip ro, rehc, rewop, yenom si ti rehtehw, ngis a su dnes! Aelp ym raeh, evoba snevaeh eht morf mih detsac evah semirc esohw eno krad o.

"In the name of the Ruler of Hell, in whose name I bow down graciously and castrate myself, pretty please come forth and grant us our every desire!"

When nothing happened, he meekly added, "Please?"

From the center of the pentagram, fire erupted and unholy screams followed. Satanists ran from the hellish storm, all scared shitless, literally. Then, as suddenly as the fire came it was gone, leaving a black clad teenager in the center of it. There was something unworldly about this boy, all of them could see it.

That and the fact he appeared from the middle of a fire.

"There! See! I told you!" Jeff cried out triumphantly. "Though…he's a bit smaller than I thought he would be."

The teen's eyes opened, revealing them to be burning red and his lips curled into a wicked smirk.

"I'm afraid my father can't answer your call right now," the teen said in a high pitched voice. "He's busy giving Hitler and Stalin enemas. I, the Antichrist, will be your substitute for the evening."

"Wow, cool, we got the Antichrist!" someone cried out.

"Word," Damien said. "Now, I'm afraid I need to give you all a lesson in why you shouldn't call for unholy assistance, especially when you have no protections put up to keep you from getting hurt."

Silence and then, "Are we going to be tested on this?"

"Indeed," Damien agreed. "Lesson One, run, don't walk to the nearest exit before the demonic creature shuts them off." There were slams and doors and windows locking. "Lesson Two, don't pray to God as you're about to be horribly, horribly killed. It just pisses us off more."

"Wait, you're suppose to help us! Not kill us!" Jeff cried out.

"Should have read the fine print," Damien said before vanishing into thin air only to reappear right in front of Jeff. His fingernails were abnormally long and they cut right into Jeff, allowing Damien to burying his hand deep into the Satanist. Jeff cried his, his howls of pain becoming screams as fire erupted out of every orifice on his body.

Turning away from his latest kill, Damien's eyes gleamed as they took in the looks of fear on the other Satanists' faces.

"I love mass murder."

And then there was nothing but screams.

* * *

"This is the place?" Charlie asked aloud, frowning. It all looked so plain; just a small vale of trees in the mountains and that was it.

Yet there were yellow strips cornering off a section of it and that was all she needed to know they were in the right place. She had believed that it would have looked…she didn't know, maybe more sinister? Evil? Yet it was just a bunch of normal looking trees.

"This is what Kyle last saw?" she heard Jace say beside her. Why'd he say that? Well, when you looked at this place closely, it really didn't have a view that you could look at, you know, so that when you died, you had something to look at.

Enough about philosophy, she was here to try out being a detective and put some of the stuff she knew to use. She had learned from the best, Sherlock Holmes. Bain Cynis, eat your heart out.

She made her wait to the police line and ducked under the yellow tape, stepping onto a crime scene in which she had not been a part in the making of. It was surreal, almost. Despite these thoughts, she kept a sharp eye on her surroundings, searching for anything that stood out that would clue her in on just where the center of the scene was. Where exactly had Kyle's skull been found? Maybe she should have brought Katie with her to point it out.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" a voice from behind her demanded. She spun on her heel, raised her hands up in defense only to stop and stare at the sight of an overweight man in a police uniform and wearing dark shades.

What was Officer Barbrady doing here?

For a moment, thoughts of being caught and possibly accused of being a murderess returning to the scene of her crime had passed through her head but seeing Barbrady of all people here, she had the idea of using it to her advantage.

Yet, even though she didn't like what she was about to do, she knew it was the only way to get the man to do what she wanted.

She changed her posture into a submissive one and did her best to look like a little girl lost in the woods. She thought of all the girls at school and try to emulate them as best as she could when she said, "Um, I got separated from a couple of my friends and I'm trying to find the highway. See, we parked nearby and I thought if I could find the road, I could find the car. There's…um…better reception for my cell by the car."

Now that was utter bullshit but Barbrady wouldn't be able to see it.

"Oh, well you need to be careful," the man said. "We're in the middle of a crime scene here so if you could just move along…"

"Ooh! A crime scene!" she squeaked out, disgusted at herself for sounding like a damn teenybopper. "I always wanted to see a crime scene! Can you show me it, please?"

"Well, I don't know," Barbrady said hesitantly.

"Oh please!" she pressed, her voice almost squeaking. If her sister knew of this, she'd never let her live it down.

But ultimately, the tactic worked as Barbrady was by nature a pushover. "Well, alright I guess. What could it hurt?"

Besides furthering contaminating the crime scene? The answer would be that it wouldn't.

"Okay, well right here is where that skull thing was found," Barbrady said in his "official" voice, gesturing to the ground where there were a few small flags planted. Her eyebrow twitched at that; how the hell had she missed that?

"And over here," Barbrady continued, "are where all the rib bones were bone, except the one over there and the one over there." He gestured to a few more flags as well as a couple that were further away from the main grouping of flags. Yeah, she was really beginning to see that Kyle had been out here a long time and the wildlife had torn his body apart.

"And right here is where they found all the blood," Barbrady added, stopping in front a nearby tree and looking down. "Wonder how they found that; I don't see anything."

Wait, what? Blood? They found blood here? Like someone had recently died here? Did that mean that Kyle had died recently or was it somebody else?

"Yeah, the guys at the station are saying that we might have a serial killer," Barbrady continued to blab. "Something about the ribs belonging to someone else or something. I wasn't really paying attention. They're going to hold a press conference soon about it and everything. Anyway, they told me to be here and stand guard, make sure nobody contaminated the crime scene but I don't see anything wrong with walking on it and…hey, where'd ya go?"

Charlie was already running back towards the twins and their car. She had definitely gotten more than she bargained for and right now, she was feeling lost. Murders and all the gory stuff that went along with them had never been her forte. Had this been a robbery, a kidnapping, even just a case of missing jewelry, she would have been fine.

But now with the phrase serial killer invoked, thoughts of people like Hannibal Lector and Michael Myers were running rampant through her head. One of the things that was always said about serial killers was that they were different from regular killers. How different, well, she was just going to have to ask Bain about it, as much as she didn't want to.

Jace and Chase were hanging around the car still and were surprised when she came out of nowhere, running towards them. It was Chase, though, that spoke first. "They catch you or something? Where's the fire?"

"I need to talk to Bain," she stated as she climbed into the front passenger seat.

Chase's eyes boggled at her in shock and Jace was trembling slightly at the name. "What is it with you?" Chase demanded. "Why do you want to see that maniac? Have you forgotten that he killed your brother!"

"First of all, he only stabbed Jack a couple times," she said in reply. "I was the one to light the match. He just took all of the credit and got off for self defense or something."

Chase was staring at her as if he had never seen her before so it was up to Jace to drive them back to South Park though there were a couple times during the drive where he almost drove off the road due to being distracted.

All the while, Charlie couldn't tell whether she was dreading or eager to see Bain again.

* * *

Author's Note: With ShadowMajin being excluded, can anybody tell me what that Satanist was saying? Brownie points and a chapter dedication to the person who can figure it out. I know what it is, what it says so there's an answer alright.


	17. Conference

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to DefectCriminal since she was the first and only person to have guessed what the Satanists' chant from the previous chapter means. If you want to know what was being said, check out her review for the last chapter.

Anyway, I have a confession to make: I have a thing for Chuck Norris jokes, which you'll be seeing a bit up in this chapter and others written and yet to be written. Anyway, DC, you know what'll be happening in this chapter and for the rest, there's another bombshell. I hope you've been piecing whatever clues I have been giving you, especially since most have been incredibly subtle. In fact, go back in previous chapters and see if it all matches up. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Conference

Heaven was so full of fail that not even Damien found that he had the heart to laugh at it. All the fucking clouds and the obvious ripoff of the Emerald City from _The Wizard of Oz_ was just so pathetic that the Antichrist found that he was pitying the souls that had to come here.

It was just so…so boring up here! And bright, definitely bright. He could see why Saddam Hussein would hate it up here. One man's heaven is another man's hell.

And for Damien, Heaven was definitely his own Hell. But the soul he was looking for was in here and he had an appointment…of all the most ridiculous things, you had to have an appointment to visit someone in Heaven. Now that was just fucked up.

In fact, it was right at the Pearly Gates that he was first stop, old Saint Peter looking as ancient as usual with his glasses whose lens were so thick you'd think they were binoculars. Out of the man's ears were two ancient hearing aids, each one shaped as a horn and curling like a ram's.

Feeling stupid, he took the laminated pass he wore around his neck and held it up in front of Peter, saying as loudly as he could, "I have an appointment."

"EH?" Peter shouted at him, peering at him through his glasses and still only seeing a blur. "Who's that? What?"

Damien gritted his teeth. "I said I had an appointment, old man!"

"What's that?"

Damien was growling but resisted resorting to violence as he stuck his pass right into Peter's face, or the ends of his glasses in this case.

"My, that looks like a pass," Peter said. "Well, whoever you are, why didn't you say you had an appointment?"

Oh for the love of… "I need to get in now," he yelled calmly at the angel.

"EH? Well, let's see what you're here for," Peter said. "Are you the two o'clock? If so, Dennis Hopper, you have a few more hours to go."

"No!" he yelled.

"EH? Well, are you the nine pm? Chuck Norris, he's still polishing his clubs!"

"Wait, Chuck Norris as in THE Chuck Norris?" Damien asked. "So the mortals were right…" he mumbled to himself.

"EH? Why can't I hear you Chuck? I always hear you. I guess you must not be Chuck Norris then so who are you? John Wooden?"

"Peter! Too soon!" a masculine voice interrupted.

Ah, finally, somebody who sounded competent! His stomach dropped when he saw it was Michael of all angels and he fisted his hands, resisting the urge to jump the angel. Michael, the very angel that had kick his father, literally, out of Heaven thousands of years ago, was much too strong for him at this point in time. No one fucked with an archangel unless they were God, his father, and now, seemingly, Chuck Norris. Curse that mortal.

Michael looked down at him, not at all looking pleased at his presence. "I don't know what business you have here, demonspawn, but make it quick. Your crooked eyebrows are more than enough to spook the souls that dwell here."

One of said crooked eyebrows twitched. Instead of attempting to tear the archangel apart like he wanted to, instead he said, "Is that a dry erase marker in your hand?"

Michael's eyes drop to the marker that he was indeed holding then snapped back up to the Antichrist. "No. Now come in and do whatever it is you have to do."

Asshole.

Into the heavenly city he entered, he shrank in on himself as if trying to stay as far away from the whiteness and the occasional group of Mormons that passed by, each one calling out hello to him. It was as if those morons couldn't tell he was pure evil!

He continued to follow after Michael, who was begrudgingly leading him to where he needed to go, and as they passed a hallway, he spotted a sulking Jesus Christ who was trudging along, looking like a pouting child than a deceased, thirty-year-old martyr.

He smirked and said, "Why the long face, Christ?"

"Silence you!" Michael growled, glaring at him.

Jesus, however, answered, "My older brother is coming up to play golf again. He's always been the favorite, no matter what I do. He's an actor! I walked on water for my sake!"

"First of all, Chuck Norris was sleepwalking when he did that," Michael unexpectedly said, sounding very defensive. "You, on the other hand, had to be completely conscious."

"He sleepwalks with his eyes open?" Jesus deadpanned.

"He was tearing out the heart of a ninja," Michael argued. "Plus, he doesn't sleep, he waits."

"Okay, that doesn't sound at all logical," Damien butted in.

"Shut up! Don't question the all glorious Chuck Norris!" Michael bellowed. "If you can see him, he can see you. If you can't see him, death is only a few seconds away."

"Can you see him then?" Damien asked.

"Oh God!" Michael panicked, his eyes darting side to side while his hands uncapped his dry erase marker so that he could sniff it.

"For the love of me," Jesus sighed, trudging off.

Damien, meanwhile, was watching Michael have a breakdown and was getting a little peeved that all this drama was over an overly-hyped mortal. He was itching to meet this Chuck Norris now but it would have to wait for now.

"Um, I'm going to go now," he said to the archangel but that seemed to be cue enough for Michael to get it together and get back to being his asshole self again.

"Oh, and have the Antichrist wandering Heaven freely? I think not!"

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. He really, really didn't want to be here…

* * *

Finally after a couple detours because Michael had gotten high from sniffing his dry erase marker one too many times, Damien arrived into the interview room where the mortal he wanted to see was waiting for him.

He vaguely remembered how this mortal had looked the last time he had seen him but he did recall the orange jacket and the green ushanka he had been wearing then and which he was wearing now, miraculously. However, he had to raise an eyebrow when he saw that the mortal was shorter than he was, and he barely made it to average size himself!

Size aside, he stared into those curious green eyes that were looking at him warily and just as well too. He would have been just as suspicious if the Antichrist had requested to meet him.

"Who are you?" Kyle Broflovski asked him right off the bat.

Oh for the love of all that was evil, had this mortal already forgotten him? He was going to have to go back to that damn town and remind them all just who exactly he is.

"Now I'm insulted," he said. "I thought I made more of an impression in your town but apparently not."

"More like something else more memorable occurred and replaced the memory of you," Kyle retorted snarkily. "Let's skip the bullshit and get down to business. Who are you and what do you want?"

"Straight to the point; I like that in a mortal," Damien commented.

"Well, I am in an eternal paradise, which by the way isn't as great as people say it is," Kyle replied. "I've been bored every single fucking day I've been here. You can only talk to so many Mormons and eat so much matza before you go stir crazy."

"Then allow me to help you alleviate your boredom," Damien offered. "You see, I have some business on Earth, and well, I need to find something out which only you would know."

"And you want me to tell this because black's your favorite color?" Kyle quipped. "Look, dude, I don't even know who the fuck you are."

"Then allow me to reintroduce myself, I am Damien, son of Satan, etcetera etcereta, now will you answer my Goddamn question?"

"Oh, now I remember you! Fart boy!" Kyle exclaimed. Upon receiving a dirty look, he hastily amended, "I mean, jeez, it's been a long time dude."

"If I didn't need you and we weren't in Heaven, I'd fucking beat the living shit out of you," Damien growled. "Pun intended."

"You're so sensitive, you know that?" Kyle commented dryly. "Fine, be a little bitch, just ask your fucking question."

"You have a lot of fucking balls, mortal," Damien hissed.

"Why not? I'm in the one place you have no power; I can say whatever the fuck I want to you and can get away with it," Kyle shrugged. "It's not like I'm ever going to see you up here again."

Goddamn it, that made too much sense. But he didn't come all the way here to be insulted. He had business to take care of and he had already wasted enough time bantering, though it was nice to have someone actually stand up to him.

"Very well, I know the truth about your untimely demise," he stated, startling the other much to his satisfaction. "What I want to know is who was it? I believe whoever it was that killed you is the same mortal that I am trying to find."

Kyle stated at him, stunned. "You mean, you're looking for the guy that killed me? Why? Did he piss someone in Hell off or something? Because really, I can see that happening."

"For lack of better words, yes," Damien confirmed. "I want the name of your murderer and where I can find him."

"Alright but you gotta let me get a piece of him," Kyle stated. "He stole my life away from me; I don't want him doing it to somebody else."

"I'm afraid that it might be too late for that," Damien revealed. "And even if I were to allow you to join me, I can't. We'd have to draw up a contract and you'd have to give up your place in Heaven to become a demon in order to have your revenge. If you were in Hell, it'd be different but you're one of God's chosen people and there's not much I can do to get around that."

Kyle looked down, frustrated. He seemed to think over his words for a moment before looking back up at him and saying, "Alright, where do I sign?"

Damien blinked at him, this time being the one surprised. "You mean to say you're willing to give up your place in Heaven for something like this?"

"All my friends are going to end up in Hell anyway, aren't they?" Kyle retorted. "It's so fucking boring up here and you know what they say: go to Heaven for the weather, go to Hell for the company. Draw up a fucking contract and let's do this."

Damien nodded at him appraisingly. "Alright, but first, give me a name."

Kyle frowned but nevertheless said, "His name is…"

* * *

Yates was not looking forward to doing this. He hated press conferences and he hated the press even more than that. Still, the brass wanted him to do this so he shoved away his hooker clothes and took out a suit, combed his hair, and generally made himself look spiffy.

Beside him, Murphy was eyeing him critically, making sure that there was nothing wrong with him. The press could distort so much that even a loose thread could raise a scandal, just like Brittany Spears peeing on that ladybug. What did ladybugs ever do to her, huh?

"You ready?" Murphy asked, standing back.

Yates sighed, "As ready as I'll ever be. I'll see you after the show, alright?"

"Just make sure you don't go on too much and remember that _24_ is on at six," Murphy said.

"I bet Jack Bauer doesn't have to deal with the press," Yates muttered, moving out of his office.

"Yeah, it'd be so much easier if we could waterboard our suspects and get confessions," Murphy agreed. "We'd be able to solve these crimes so much quicker."

"Don't I know that. Well, time for me to throw myself to the wolves. Send anything left of me back to my wife and make sure that the casket is closed this time."

With that, he trekked towards the front of the building, his discomfort growing with every step he took. He was a cop for crying out loud! Not one of those pussy public relations people! He should be out there busting pervs, not holding a spectacle for the vultures that were the media! The people have a right to know—bullshit!

It wasn't a cloudy day outside; in fact it was sunny, a contrast to the news that he was about to deliver. Cameras were flashing, almost blindingly, but he had gotten used to such flashes that they were nothing but a tiny irritation now.

He stepped up to the podium, aware of the couple cops that flanked him, providing him some needed to support. His mouth was dry as all those eyes rested on him but he steeled his nerves and began to speak.

* * *

"_Earlier this week, a human skull was discovered off Highway 34, a few miles outside of South Park, Colorado. As of now, we have identified the skull as belonging to one Kyle Broflovski, a young man who has been missing from his family for approximately six months."_

Stan winced at the sob he heard from Sheila but never took his eyes off the television as the police officer spoke. His hands tightened on one another, his knuckles turning white, as he heard the name of his best friend.

"_As of right now we are asking for any information anyone may have on the disappearance of Mr. Broflovski, particularly any information pertaining to the day he disappeared. The Broflovski family has generously put up a ten thousand dollar reward for any information leading up to the capture of their son's murderer. If you have any information, please contact the Park County Sherriff's Offices or your local police stations."_

Cartman wouldn't have missed this for the world, even as he stuffed himself with some potpie his mother had made for him, his eyes greedily taking in the images on the television set. Anything to assure him that the Jew was dead, really dead, and burning in Hell was all he wanted to hear.

But the news of there being ten thousand dollars being offered also caught his attention. Hmm, not only was he confirming the death of one Jew but he had the chance to also get some Jew money? Oh hell yes, this was the happiest day of his life!

"_Further investigating, however, has led us to the conclusion that Mr. Broflovski's untimely death was not an isolated event. Evidence found at the scene has revealed to have belonged to other individuals of no relation to Mr. Broflovski. Simply, there were more than one person whose lives were ended in those woods."_

Christophe froze at those news, ever as he kept a strong arm wrapped around Rhiannon's shoulders, the girl curled up next to him and nearly asleep. She had had a long day and had fallen asleep next to him long before he had decided to go channel surfing. He would have preferred to be outside but the incident with Katie had really affected the girl more than she showed.

But now hearing that there were more than just one body that had laid in that clearing was enough to get him tense, various scenarios running through his head. Unbiddingly, Bain's words from the other day echoed in his head.

_The natural elements and the weather itself will destroy potential evidence. The longer a body is out in the wilderness, the more evidence is destroyed._

He was already beginning to suspect what that cop was alluding to and waiting for the confirmation, all the while tightening his one armed embrace on the girl beside him.

"_At this point in time, we are asking that the public be aware that we may have a serial killer in our midst. Be on the lookout for any suspicious behavior or anyone acting strangely. As of right now we are searching for an M.O. but just in case, be wary of anyone that comes to your front door and don't trust any strangers."_

"Gah!" Tweek cried out, his twitches uncontrollable as he listened to what he already knew. He had barged into Craig's house (more like knocked on the door and asked if he could come in because he was being watched) and had instantly turned on the TV to the news, ignoring Craig's rolling of his eyes and the annoyance that was being directed towards him by Jess Skidmore.

He thought the two were working on a homework assignment but right now that was irrelevant. Being safe and sound in the safest place he knew, i.e. Craig's house, was more important to him. That, and finding out what the police were going to do about the Underpants Gnomes.

Hearing them pin it all on a serial killer was not what he wanted to hear.

Craig and Jess' attentions were captured as soon as the words "serial killer" were uttered and now the two were watching raptly, hanging on the police officer's every word.

It was a certainty now; he was royally screwed.

"_At this point in time, I am going to request that no psychics come down here to try and help. We don't need a damn circus with you people again and Goddamn it, we can handle this on our fucking own. And for the rest of you media whores, don't get in our way or I won't hesitate to cuff you, your First Amendment rights be damned! We're gonna find this cocksucker and put him in a hurt locker if it's the last thing we —"_

The TV flashed off, the lingering glare fading away and the visage of Bain Cynis reflecting on the glass becoming clearer and clearer by the second. The heterochromatic boy stared at the screen impassively, not betraying a single emotion as he sat on a luggage trunk in his basement, his arms crossed over his chest with an object in each hand.

His hands tightened their grip on each object, wrinkling the fabrics they were made of but he paid them no mind. In his right hand, he held a black cloth that if one were to look at carefully would see was a mesh faced mask while in his left hand was a ratty green ushanka.

Slowly, his lips curled upwards into a smirk and his eyes began to light up with a malevolent gleam. "Catch me, will you?" he commented lazily.

"Well, happy hunting's. You're going to need it."


	18. What's a Serial Killer?

Author's Note: It is recently come to my attention that Bain Cynis has a Facebook page. Weird, I know. The thing is, I'm not the one who made it. No really, I'm serious. It's not that I'm complaining, because I'm not, but I'd like to know who was it that made it. It's just my curiosity speaking here and I have nothing against whoever made it. In fact, I support it to a degree. It's just it was made without me being told or anyone asking if they could do it. It's the principle as well as the fact that Bain Cynis belongs to me. So, whoever you are, please send me a PM but don't take down the "fanpage." It's kinda fun to look at, actually.

Back to the subject at hand, surprised about who the killer is or were any of you fully expecting it? I gotta to know if I've improved in hiding things from the readers until the time is right. You guys are my barometer so please, give me your thoughts. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

What's a Serial Killer?

Damien blinked, staring deeply into the mortal's green eyes as the name he had been told resonated in his head. The signs had been there but he had been too sure of himself, so full of confidence that he purposely kept himself from looking close enough to see what he could have known in mere seconds.

The person responsible for Kyle Broflovski's death, the boy who had slit his throat and left him to die was none other than that Commandment breaker Bain Cynis.

He should have peered closer at that blackened and decayed soul instead of standing back and playing around. All the blood that dripped from said soul was also a big giveaway yet it didn't mean that the mortal was also responsible for killing those fledglings back on Earth. The only way to get a definite answer would be to go back and face that soul.

There was always a little thrill he got when dealing with an evil soul and there was no doubt in his mind that Bain's soul was indeed evil. Maybe it was being able to show someone up who thought they were hot stuff or maybe it was something else but he didn't really care about the technical side of it as long as he knew how good it made him feel.

Oh yes, it was time for an overdue meeting.

But first thing was first.

He had never been so exhausted using his powers before, not since he had first begun using them, but he assumed that the holiness of Heaven was starting to get at him. Nevertheless, he was able to create a contract, the unholy document rolled up so as to make it portable.

"Now, you said you were willing to give up your place in Heaven to get a piece of Bain, yes?" he asked.

Kyle blinked up at him, eyes widening slightly. "Wow, you remembered?"

"I always remember anything involving souls," Damien rolled his eyes. "Anyway, this right here is the contract I mentioned, the one you need to sign." Jerking his hand, the document began to unroll and land on the table, continuing to roll and roll until it fell off the table and continued to unroll until it ran into a wall.

This time, Kyle's eyes bugged out. "Wow."

"The gist of it is that you're willing to give up your place up here and ready to become a demon, blah blah blah, and all that. All you need to do is sign at the dotted line…which would be right where the wall is apparently."

To his surprise, Kyle snatched the top of the contract from him and began to read through it, his eyes scrolling left to right and reading each and every word he could find.

"Um, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Reading," Kyle answered. "My dad's a lawyer and he always said to read through something like this before signing it, especially the fine print. Something about getting screwed over or something. This might take a while so you might want to go now but first tell me how to sign this before you do."

Well, this was certainly new. Most people skipped to the signing and didn't bother with the reading. That was how they usually screwed mortals over.

"I'll take that," he said quickly, snatching the contract back, the document rolling back up to his hand where it promptly vanished. "Let me…uh, shorten this down for you," he said nervously.

"Well, I have all the time in the world," Kyle shrugged. "Where the hell am I going to go? Detroit?"

* * *

Kenny had watched the press conference from the electronics store in downtown South Park. The store had one of those large display windows and had multiple TVs on, all on the same channel. Or, at least it was all covering the same thing, the police conference.

Kyle had been killed by a serial killer yet despite all the times he had died since Kyle had disappeared, he hadn't seen his Jewish friend once. Usually when he died, he went to Hell with the exception of when Heaven needed him to save their asses.

But damn, another serial killer? Wait, was that why Damien was up here? If so, what could that serial killer have done to have pissed Hell off? This wasn't making any sense anymore.

Beside him, Tori was watching the TV, though not with the same intensity as he was. She looked slightly more discomforted by it and he could sense that she was itching to be moving away from there and doing something else. She didn't understand why something like this could capture someone's interest so thoroughly. Perhaps it was the mention of Kyle that kept her by his side. He had known she had a thing for his Jewish friend, just like a few other girls in the school. Kyle, though, had never shown much interest back.

But now it was out in the open: Kyle was never coming back. He would have thought his cousin would have broken down into tears by now but was slightly proud that she was still standing.

"C'mon, Kenny, let's go," he heard her mumble to him and there was a hint of repressed emotion there. She was holding it together but only just. However, he couldn't leave, not just yet, he had to watch more, needed to see what happened next.

"…_and Goddamn it, we can handle this on our fucking own. And for the rest of you media whores, don't get in our way or I won't hesitate to cuff you, your First Amendment rights be damned! We're gonna find this cocksucker and put him in a hurt locker if it's the last thing we do. You hear me out there you asshole? We're going to find you! Better look over your shoulder a lot because one day we're going to be right behind you with a pair of handcuffs and a nightstick to shove straight up your ass!"_

Okay, it was time to move on. Sergeant Yates was losing it again and from here on end, it was just going to be one big embarrassment for Park County, the butt end of jokes for America since 1997. The amount of attention they'd probably get for this would rival the time they changed the definition of the word "fag."

"Yeah, it's just becoming politics now," he said as he wrapped an arm around his cousin's shoulders, much to her embarrassment, and led her away. "Hey, have you seen a kid in all black walking around?"

"Are you talking about one of those Goth kids?" Tori asked.

"No, this guy is definitely not Goth," Kenny corrected. "He has these eyes, red eyes. And a high voice, like he hasn't gone through puberty yet."

"Sorry, don't know who you're talking about," Tori shrugged, not only showing cluelessness but also trying to get Kenny's arm off her shoulders. A maneuver like shrugging your shoulders was ineffective against the pervy likes of Kenny McCormick, though. Incest, however, was a different matter and something he was not into.

Tori, though, should know better than to try a pathetic move like that.

"Oh well, guess I'll have to look for him the hard way," he sighed, releasing his cousin. "Don't wait up for me," he said as he separated from her, heading in the opposite direction.

"Don't get yourself killed!" he heard her yell at him and he smiled grimly to himself.

Oh, that was something he wasn't planning on doing anytime soon.

* * *

What the police had just announced, Charlie had already guessed at. Thus, she was already on her way back to the Cynis residence to speak to the one person who probably had the information that she needed.

She had looked up the titles of the books she had seen in Bain's rooms, figured out that the majority of the ones she remembered were about serial killers, and concluded that Bain was the one to talk to about it.

That, or she could watch that one show on Showtime, _Dexter_ she thought it was called.

Anyway, she had just come up to the front door to Bain's house when the door itself opened, revealing Bain on his way out and blinking owlishly at her while holding a large manila envelope in one hand. Whatever surprise he expressed soon changed to a frown as he demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"Serial killers, what do you know about them?" she demanded in return.

"Why the sudden interest?" he asked.

"Are you just going to ask questions or give me answers?" she shot back.

"Well, for your information, I'm on an errand," Bain stated as he shut the door behind him. "I have no time for you as I need to help my slut of a mother flirt with the tech guys at her work so move aside if you please."

"That's okay, I'll ride with," she said nonchalantly.

Bain stared at her. "That ride was a onetime thing, Charlotte," he growled.

"Want me to kick your ass?" she replied. "I'm going to get what I came for no matter what, Bain. The sooner you accept this, the better."

Bain sneered at her but nonetheless said, "One of these days, Charlotte, I won't hold back."

A few minutes later, he was backing his car out of the driveway but he wasn't in any way as relaxed as the last time she had seen him in the position. Damn, he was pissed off at either her or his mother, whichever was the case but hopefully that wouldn't become her problem.

"So what can you tell me about serial killers?" she asked.

"They kill people," Bain snipped.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I know you read about them, Bain. Cut the crap."

"I am not in the mood, Charlotte, so shut the fuck up."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were on your fucking period," she smirked.

Bain braked the car harshly and swung his arm out at her. She caught said arm, more prepared for the knife that had appeared in his hand than she'd like to admit. Where the hell did he keep these things on him? He was always pulling them out of interesting places.

"You're on thin ice, whore," Bain warned, Winslow clenched in his hand. "The only reason I haven't slit your fucking throat is because I don't want to get blood in my car. It's a bitch to clean up."

"Know that from experience or read about it?" she quipped, hiding her nervousness expertly.

Bain glared at her from the corner of his eye but pulled his arm back and slid Winslow out of sight again, letting the car move again as he headed to wherever he needed to go. She was a little unsettled when he drove out of South Park and down Highway 34 East; if she recalled correctly, that site with Kyle's skull was found somewhere off Highway 34 but that may have been west of the town, not east.

With Bain, you never really knew what he was up to.

He drove up into a small shopping center, parking near a photography store and shutting the engine off. "Out," he stated coldly. "You wanted to tag along, well, you're going to have to work for it."

Okay, he really sounded pissed off. Maybe he had a bad day or something? Well, whatever it was, he had locked the car after they had gotten out and was heading towards the photography store with the manila envelope tucked under an arm. Hmm, maybe he was a closet photographer or something?

A small bell rang as Bain opened the door to the shop, not bothering to hold it open for her as he approached the cashier counter, setting the manila envelope on it. Behind the counter stood a very small, fat, balding man with large glasses that made his eyes look beady. She could see them light up as they eyed the envelope Bain and set down.

"Ah, what brings me the pleasure of seeing you today?" the man asked, an accent in his voice that Charlie couldn't identify.

"Mother," Bain said, gritting his teeth, "wants some of the usual. You know, potassium dichromate and some sulfuric acid. Same quantity as usual."

"And is that…?" the clerk asked, his eyes trained on the envelope.

"Of course, your usual payment," Bain stated coldly. "Let's make this quick, old man."

"So rude," the clerk grumbled but vanished back into a storage room.

Charlie looked at Bain and raised an eyebrow at him. "Why does your mom want acid?"

"As I said, it's for the tech guys at her work," Bain grumbled.

"And what does she do at her work?" she asked, pressing the issue.

Bain glared at her, a look that blatantly said "don't say another word" and there was no sign of warning in it. She knew better than to press her luck at this point in time; Bain was most likely upset about whatever deal his mother had arranged with the owner of this shop and if she wanted him to talk, she was going to have to let him have some room to cool off first.

"I know I've never asked, but why does your mother want this stuff?" the clerk asked as he returned with a coworker, placing large jugs of liquid on the counter. Bain was immediately reading the labels, as if making sure that they were the real deal.

"I don't ask and she doesn't tell," Bain said. "Your payment's over there."

"Ah yes," the clerk said, taking the envelope. "Well, I hope we still do business in the future."

Bain's eyes narrowed at the man but he said nothing, grabbing a couple of the jugs and turning around only to shove them into Charlie's arms. "Take them to the car and don't drop them," he ordered, turning back around to grab two more jugs.

She shifted the jugs in her arms, trying to balance the weight so that she pushed her way out of the store. It wasn't that much of a problem for her; she could handle the weight, it was the awkwardness in which she had to hold them while at the same time not jostle them.

As brave, or stupid, as she was, she wasn't about to risk getting herself covered in acid. Bain would enjoy it too much. He was an asshole like that.

She arrived back at Bain's car the same time he did. For such a small guy, he could certainly move fast. He gently placed the jugs he was holding on the pavement and took out his keys to open up the trunk. She noticed that he didn't have one of those button clickers, which she thought would have made this easier. She said such to him only to get an unexpected response.

"Ruin a beauty like this with that garbage? HA! This baby has been around since before you and I were born. I don't give a shit if it's modern; you don't fuck with a classic. You just don't."

Okay, this was something she had noticed before: guys were possessive over their cars. Never, ever, mention anything involving improving their cars or ideas that sound competent as they will bite your head off, especially if a "classic" is involved.

As the trunk lid rose, she raised an eyebrow at the trunk interior; it was filled with packing material and bubble wrap. She had thought that Bain's weirdness level couldn't have gone higher but it looked like she had been proven wrong…or right as Bain began situating the jugs into the packing material, making sure that none of the jugs could move easily.

Bain's green eye glanced at her and he said, "Make yourself useful and go back in. There's still a few more left to get."

Oh, so now she was slave labor, huh? Like hell she was going to—

"Do as I say or I'm going to see if this acid is still corrosive."

One minute later, she was back in the store and gathering a couple more jugs of the stuff. The clerk and his assistant were nowhere to be found but from the sounds she was hearing coming from the back, well she supposed it would be better if she didn't know what they were doing.

Eventually, all the jugs were loaded and Bain was slamming the trunk closed, locking the compartment while she made her way to the passenger side door. She found the door locked and she had a sinking suspicion that Bain would strand her out here, especially since he didn't have one of those button clickers.

Her suspicions were heightened as Bain got in the driver's side of the car and he glanced casually at her. A few tense seconds and then there was the sound of the door unlocking.

You have no idea how relieved she felt at that sound.

So now they were back on the highway, heading back to town when she got the balls to finally ask about what was just going on.

Bain glared at her but surprisingly answered anyway. "My mother has…'arrangements' at that particular establishment; she gets what she wants from them in exchange for…risqué photographs of her. Apparently, it hasn't crossed her miniscule mind that they could just pick up a Victoria's Secret catalogue and it wouldn't cost her the amount of money it takes to develop the photos."

"Wow, your mother's almost like Cartman's mom," she commented.

Suddenly, Bain pulled the car over violently, the brakes screeching against the tarmac. Once again, Winslow was in her face but this time, Bain had gotten his arm wrapped around her neck and had pulled her down, the tip of his blade hovering just an inch away from her eye.

"If you value anything in your fucked up life, you will not _ever_ compare me to the piece of shit or anything related to him, understand?" Bain hissed. The amount of venom in his voice was just enough to get her to agree right away. Being in an enclosed space was not suitable for any kind of fight, especially when someone had a clear advantage here.

Stiffly, Bain released her, Winslow disappearing once more. Silence reigned between the two, Charlie high strung and wondering what would set the boy off again and not wanting to test her luck further. Sure having the knowledge that Bain wouldn't get his car bloody was one thing but there were times when you had to concede defeat.

Bain had a short fuse and his mother more than likely had shortened it.

"So your questions?" Bain suddenly spoke up. "Ask them now or forever hold your peace."

Cautious, she asked, "Serial killers. What do you know about them?"

The corners of Bain's lips tweaked upward. She didn't have to see his whole face to know that he was holding back a smile. "Serial killers? Moving up in the world, are you? Well, to put it plainly, serial killers are a different breed of criminal."

"Different how?" she asked.

"When you get to the essence of it, serial killers are addicts," Bain stated. "The thing that separates them from substance abusers is that their substance of choice is murder. They have an impulse to kill and they do nothing to rein it in unless it becomes a liability. Even then, they can still be consumed by their obsession."

"And how do you catch one?" she asked the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

"You don't," Bain stated. "In most captures, it's either luck, the killer slips up and the cops catch on, or he dies. A few serial killers are never caught, such as Jack the Ripper or the Zodiac Killer. The original, not the copy cat. Another Jack, Jack the Stripper, is believed to have suicided because the police were getting too close."

"And what about those caught?"

"Ted Bundy was pulled over for a minor traffic violation and created enough suspicion that his car was searched. John Wayne Gacy chose the wrong victim as his thirty-third. Joel Rifkin up in New York compulsively confessed when pulled over for having a broken brake light. In the late 1890s, an insurance scam nabbed authorities H.H. Holmes, known as America's 'first' serial killer."

"So what you're saying is that these guys are caught for something other than murder?"

"Not all the time but a good amount. Intensive police work, ceaseless investigating, and innovations in technology have served to help catch these people. It was because of technology that Gary Ridgeway was caught after killing prostitutes and eluding authorities for nearly two decades. DNA testing has been the biggest help in these kinds of investigation and every year the testing becomes cheaper and cheaper. The saying that a criminal always leaves evidence at a crime scene is now more a fact than ever before as we can now process smaller and smaller bits of evidence, some of which are microscopic."

She was tempted to say that he sounded like he had a hard-on for this crap but refrained from doing so. Now was not the time, especially when they were moving over sixty miles an hour.

That would just be suicide.

"So how would _you_ go about trying to find one?" she asked aloud. This was done on purpose, not by accident.

Bain snorted before speaking to her as if she was a toddler. "Well, I would figure out just who the victims of the killer are. Killers tend to stick to a demographic. The victims have at least one trait that connects them all; find it and you can find yourself one step closer to the killer. What that trait means to the killer differs. Sometimes it makes sense to logical people but other times it makes absolutely no sense to anyone but the killer.

"However, when it comes down to it, the one person that can understand a serial killer best is another serial killer. Ted Bundy prided himself on being an 'expert' before he was fried in Florida."

"And you talk about it so casually," Charlie rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're a serial killer."

"And if I am?" Bain shot back challengingly.

"Please, if you were a serial killer, I would have known it by now," she scoffed. "You talk a big game but when it comes down to it, you're a poser. You're all talk; I don't see why the guys at school are so afraid of you."

Bain snorted at her. "That's what they all say."

* * *

Stan sighed as he left Kyle's house…well, now it would be his parent's house wouldn't it? Damn it, there were so many changes happening and he didn't like any of it. All he needed now was one little thing to distract him from his self-appointed task of finding Kyle's killer.

"Hey Stan."

And there Wendy was.

He felt his stomach gurgling and he had to put a clamp on his gag reflex and cross his fingers that he wouldn't projectile vomit right here and now. He so didn't need this right now.

"Hey Wendy," he said uncomfortably.

"I heard about what happened to Kyle," she said. "I understand now why you were so distant back then and I was wondering perhaps if we could get back together. I know you'll need some support in the coming days and I would really like to be there for you."

"Wendy…" he murmured. "I…I don't know what to say."

"You'll say yes, right?" she asked eagerly.

"Well," he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. Should he or shouldn't he? This was the girl of his dreams, right? So his answer should be obvious, right?

Right?

* * *

Stan wasn't at his house, Kyra found, and so she was heading back to her own, slightly dejected. Her parents had called her in during that police press conference but only after they had heard the name of one of her classmates mentioned.

It had been surreal, almost, to find out the guy who was her crush's best friend had been murdered and she had impulsively left the sanctity of her house to go and try to comfort Stan.

As soon as she had left the property, she began to have doubts about doing this and why she could wait until school tomorrow to try. But she had made herself continue all the way up to the Marsh's front door where she was met by his father. As soon as she found out that Stan was there, she thanked Randy Marsh and turned to leave but not before hearing him comment that his son was such a ladies' man and that she was the seventh girl to come and ask to see him this day.

She could feel her self esteem drop at that remark.

So now she was on her way back home, planning on getting on her Xbox and doing some major pwning to some n00bs who were unlucky enough to get in her way.

That's when she caught sight of Stan up ahead and her heart leapt up in her chest…only to plummet again when she saw that he was talking with Wendy. Oh God, please don't let it be what she thought it was.

She felt her heart break in two when she saw Stan wrap his arms around the raven-haired girl with the pink beret and she spun around, taking an alternative route to her house.


	19. The Dance Begins

Author's Note: In this chapter, we have a meeting that has been in the works for quite some time. And if you take a close look at the title, you might find an allusion to the name of this story. Still curious about you put up that Facebook page and don't think I'm pissed about it, because I'm not. Just curious is all. On another note, a joke or two here came from ShadowMajin after a couple sessions of throwing ideas around. SM, you know which ones are the ones. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

The Dance Begins

Damien left Heaven like a bat out of Hell, no pun intended. It wasn't that he was sick of the place, it was…well, he was sick of the place, what with all the Mormons and clouds. Oh, and also some bearded guy who gave him a black eye.

He hadn't expected that in place of a chin under that beard, there was another fist. He shouldn't have been cursing God's name up in the realm of holiness, especially with beings like that up there.

He wanted to go straight back to Earth but he needed to drop his pass back off with his father, a delay that he didn't want but had no choice but to do it. His father had been strict about it, threatening that if he didn't bring it back, he would be grounded. Like HELL he would be grounded!

As he approached his father's throne room, he could hear his father's voice booming, as if complaining about something…

"GAWD! It's like fucking Texas in here! Turn the thermostat down!"

…

Oh damn it.

He trudged into the throne room, his urgency replaced with reluctance as he had heard this tone of voice before. It was his father's version of having a "period;" it was always random and lasted however long his father wanted it. He had something similar occur during one Halloween where he held a big party and he acted like a spoiled, rich, white girl having her sweet sixteen.

He would be impossible to be around.

"I'm back," he announced wearily, holding out the pass. "I can't believe a place exists with so many Mormons."

"Oh, hey sweetie!" the Dark Lord exclaimed. His eyes narrowed. "Is that a black eye? Has someone been bullying you?" The fires of Hell exploded into conflagrations at their master's ire. "Who dares such a transgression! Tell me my son, who did this to you and I will handle it," his voice boomed. "I don't care if I have to declare war on Heaven, someone WILL pay."

Despite being an embodiment of evil, Damien felt touched. "I don't really know who it was," he admitted, "but he had a beard."

"A lot of people in Heaven have beards," Satan stated. "Be more specific."

"Well he didn't have a chin, just another fist," he said after some thought.

"Wait, a fist instead of a chin?" Satan questioned. "Oh no, that was Chuck Norris, the only man to have ever beaten God in golf!"

"That was Chuck Norris?" Damien asked skeptically. "What's so special about him other than having no chin and three fists?"

"You don't understand, Damien, Chuck Norris is the _only_ person to have beaten God in a game of golf," Satan explained. "God cheats like hell in golf! I've never beaten him in golf and I'm cheating too! I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do about this son. You're going to have to take it like a man."

Damien stared at his father in disbelief; without putting up a fight, his father was giving up. …wait, why the hell was he surprised by this? His father was once again overreacting like those foolish mortals up on the surface…oh God, the chaos of South Park was seeping into Hell!

It was time he put an end to this madness.

"Fine," he huffed theatrically. "I have unfinished business back on Earth. I'm almost done with it but I'll be back soon."

"Okay, sweetie, be home in time for supper," his father called after him. "I'm making your favorite tonight!"

Those were the last words he heard from his father as Hell fell apart around him only to be replaced with Earth. Right in front of him was the Cynis family residence where the last piece of this puzzle was. No more playing around, no more subtlety. Time to put an end to this and no more getting punched out by Chuck Norris.

He rang the doorbell and stood in front of the door, waiting to receive his prey. However, when the door opened, the first thing he saw were a pair of the most beautiful breasts he had ever seen. He wanted to touch them _so_ badly. Hormones flooded his system as he was hypnotized by the rounded mammary glands. In fact, he almost missed a feminine voice speak, he was that close to being out of it.

"Is there something I can help you with sweetie?"

His eyes trailed upward to the beautiful visage that was a face and found himself swimming in pride and lust. Pride in looks, lust in desire to fuck and be fucked. And it all blended together so well…

"Little boy, my face is up here."

Oh…OH…right, he was here for a reason and…wait, little boy? He wasn't that goddamn short! Okay, this temptress' spell over him was broken. He had business to take care of no matter how much he wanted to bend this bitch over and fuck the living hell out of her.

"Is Bain here?" he demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Oh, are you a friend of his?" the woman squealed excitedly, overlooking his rudeness. "Oh, my little baby is finally growing up!"

By God, it was like she was a sexier version of Liane Cartman. A more airheaded version but still the sexier of the two.

"Um, where's Bain?" he asked again, sounding more like a polite young man than the son of the devil.

"Oh, that's right, he already left," Ms. Cynis said, as if realizing the fact. "I'm sorry but he'll be in school, where you should be already. Still, it is a bit rude of him not to wait for you. And he did leave a bit earlier than usual. Still, he's so dedicated to his studies."

If he still had a sweet tooth, he'd be getting a cavity. "Thank you, eh, Bain's mom. I'll be going now."

"Oh, you're such a sweetie," she cooed. "I'll tell Bain you stopped by!"

"Yes, you do that," he said under his breath as he turned away and left the Cynis residence.

Alright, his target wasn't here. Then where was he? Looks like he needed another hellhound.

* * *

Bain pulled over his car, the scenic sight of Stark's Pond brilliant in the morning sun. He paid no attention to it though as he opened up the rear doors of his car and proceeded to drag out a large luggage trunk, letting it land harshly on the ground.

He looked side to side, looking around to see if anyone was watching and then began dragging the trunk deeper into the woods around Stark's. The police had found just one of his dumping sites but like all good serial killers, he had more than one. This site, though, was one he was trying out.

Deeper into the woods he dragged the heavy trunk, swearing at the drugged girl inside of it under his breath. You'd think that since females were so concerned about their weight, they'd be lighter and easier to move around. Ha, what a joke.

Finally, he reached a large outcropping of trees whose foliage was thick enough to hide anything planted beneath them. He wasn't sure if they were pines or cedars but they would hide this trunk nicely until he could return later to get the trunk. Leaving it, he returned to his car where he made sure that no one was watching while he pulled out two jugs of sulfuric acid. Sure he had pilfered some from his mom but it wasn't like she kept count anyway.

Dumb fucking slut.

Back at the trunk, he set the jugs down and opened up the trunk, gazing down at the unconscious girl who was curled up within. He had given her a dose of tranq earlier to ensure that she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, which would probably be a mercy. There's no way she'd want to be awake for what he was about to do.

He pulled out the packaging material and bubble wrap, leaving only the stuffed animal in the girl's arms. Pausing, he extended a hand out and combed his fingers into the lush, dark brown hair that looked almost black in this lighting. He jerked his hand back suddenly, as if he had been burned and snorted at the girl.

Fucking females and their so-called independence. Well, let's just see how fucking strong this one was against chemistry!

He opened a jug and poured the liquid into the trunk, his eyes lighting up in a homicidal gleam. There was a low hissing sound that could be heard but you had to be paying attention in order to hear it; that was how he knew that the stuff was working. As soon as he had emptied the jug, he tossed it aside and opened the second one, dumping it too into the trunk.

Only when he was done did he shut the trunk and put on the padlock. Industrially made, there was no way she or anyone else would be able to break it open in time to save her life. Then he began shoving the trunk into the foliage, wincing as he felt the twiggy branches scratch against his skin. Those would leave marks, definitely, but no one would notice.

They barely noticed him at all until he was in their face or they needed something.

Making sure that the trunk was deep in there, he pulled back a few feet and paced around the cropping of flora, making sure that the trunk wouldn't be noticed. Once the girl had been dissolved, he'd come back for the trunk, if there was anything left of it, and deal with the acid then.

Turning around to pick up the empty jugs, he nearly shrieked like a girl when he ran into someone and fell back on his ass. He glared up at whoever this person one, already fingering Winslow so he could gut someone at a moment's notice but found himself captured in a crimson red gaze.

The person was dressed all in black with skin so pale it made his own hue tan. The black hair was styled yet chaotic all at the same time and if his calculations were correct, this black obsessed individual would be taller than he would be.

Oh Goddamn it.

Suddenly, it clicked in his head; he had seen this person before! It had been at school only he had been more transparent and…oh great, don't let it be that he has schizophrenia! Though, that would come in handy if he was caught…

"Bain Cynis, we meet face to face at last," the black-clad person said, his voice so high that Bain winced. It was as if he hadn't undergone puberty yet or his voice was constantly cracking!

He surged back up onto his feet, eyeing the person warily as he demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

The pale individual smirked at him. "You may call me Damien. I go by many names but that one is the most informal."

Bain huffed, still glaring at Damien. He paused as a thought occurred to him and his eyes narrowed. "What might you be doing around these parts, stranger?"

"Oh, just the usual, taking in nature, watching a Commandment being broken, appraising the method of a fellow brethren in evil."

"What did you see?" he snarled. Out came Winslow, ready to piece some flesh only for something to take hold of him and freeze him in place. Damien's eyes were glowing malevolently and Bain felt a wave of fear fill his body. There was something going on and he had a feeling that he was out of his league at the moment.

"I'll forgive your rudeness for now," Damien commented, "but let this be a warning not to bear arms against me. It wouldn't end pretty."

Bain swallowed but said nothing. What could he say in such a helpless position, especially when confronted with something he knew nothing about?

"Now what should I do with you?" Damien mused out loud. "Hm? Is there something you'd like to say?"

Bain felt as if a pressure had been lifted from his throat and he found he could breathe much easier than before. Taking in a few gulps of air, he growled, "What do you want from me?"

"To find something out then pass judgment over you," Damien stated. "Why have you been killing our fledglings?"

What? Now Bain prided himself on being intellectually superior to the people around him but right now this Damien person was making absolutely no sense. Fledglings? What the hell was he talking about?

Damien frowned at him and increased the pressure on his body. "Well mortal? Explain."

"What fledglings?" he managed to gasp out. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He felt his body get flung to a side and the ground slamming into his side. He skidded against the snow covered earth, which wasn't as soft as you'd think, and he panted in pain. A hand tipped with claw-like fingernails wrapped around his throat and he was lifted into the air, his hands shooting upwards to grab onto the arm that held him, trying to get some leverage.

"Don't play dumb with me, mortal," Damien said. "I know you're the one that has been killing our fledglings up here and I want to know why. Speak now before I tire of you and decide to smite you right now."

"What…are you?" Bain choked out.

Damien blinked at him then smirked. "Well, if you must know, you'd probably recognize me as the Antichrist, the son of Satan, etcetera."

Then would that mean that those fledglings he was talking about…were demons? He needed to do something, anything, to preserve his life. He wasn't ready to lose it now, not when he was still in his prime!

"How am I…supposed to know…that?" he choked out demandingly. "And why…would I…know…about some…demons…up here?"

"So you didn't know that you were killing our fledglings?" Damien demanded.

"Isn't it…obvious?"

Damien tossed him away. As soon as those fingers had left his throat, he began greedily sucking in as much air as he could, coughing out the excess only to do it again.

"So let me get this straight; you're been breaking one of the Commandments, 'thou shalt not murder,' and just happened to pick victims who happened to be possessed at the time?" Damien asked skeptically.

"What? Possessed?" Bain coughed. "They were…possessed?"

"Do not play games with me, mortal," Damien hissed.

"But that's what I am, a mortal," Bain shot back, surprising himself. It was demeaning to call himself that word but he was willing to do whatever it took to survive this experience. "I didn't know any of those girls were possessed! How could I? They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and accepted a ride from me! But if they were possessed, that meant the demons were the ones to accept my offer? If so, the blame shouldn't rest on me!"

"Oh, the ignorance defense," Damien said mockingly. "Have you got anything better?"

"Actually, that would be the 'blame the victim' defense," he pointed out. "Really, haven't you been teaching those demons not to accept rides from strangers?"

Perhaps it hadn't been the smart decision to become taunting. Though Damien didn't look it, he had some impressive strength in that body of his as he soon found out when the Antichrist planted his foot on his chest.

"Don't patronize me," Damien growled. "You're in deep, boy, and I'm not the person you should be aggravating. I do control your fate as of now."

"Time!" Bain gasped out. "Give me…some time! Let me get my affairs in order. Then tonight, you can do whatever the hell you want with me!"

"That's what you mortals all say," Damien chuckled. "But I like you, if only for your Commandment breaking status. Make your next few hours worth it mortal. They just might be your last."

And as if Damien had never been there, Bain found himself alone in the woods. He rolled onto his stomach scrambled onto his feet, his eyes darting from side to side. He didn't really know what had happened but he knew that something had and he needed to prepare for the inevitable meeting later on today. But what could he do? He had no idea just what he was dealing with and he usually kept himself out of the chaos that seemed to wrack this crazy town.

Still, he had a name to go on from and from there he could make a game winning move. There were things bigger than him going on but this time he wasn't going to allow himself to go with the flow.

If anything, he'd take control of it himself.

* * *

Cartman had barely just opened the door to his house when he found himself face to face with a determined Stan and knew that the feeling he had when he had woken up that morning had meant something.

"Cartman! I need your help!" Stan exclaimed.

"My help? Get it from Kenny," he shot back. "I'm going to be late for the fucking bus again, ya asshole."

"I'll give you a ride," Stan interrupted. "Plus I can't find Kenny anywhere."

He gave the pussy jock a look before shrugging and saying, "As long as it doesn't require illegal immigrants and Tori Spelling, I'll listen."

"Thanks a—wait, what?" Stan blinked.

"Never mind," Cartman said hastily. "What do you fucking want?"

"You watched the news last night, right?" he asked and the fat boy smiled at that. Hell yeah he had watched! "Then you know what we gotta do, right?"

"I'm totally on the same page," he agreed. "Party tonight at my house! My mom's going shopping for it and we can celebrate that there's one less Jew in the world!"

"Right, wait, NO!" Stan exclaimed. "I'm not fucking talking about celebrating! I'm talking about finding the asshole that killed Kyle!"

"And I don't want to," Cartman replied, pausing before adding, "unless it's to thank him. He's done the world a great service."

Stan's eyes narrowed. "Cartman, you owe it to Kyle to find this guy."

"Whatever," Cartman rolled his eyes.

"C'mon! What would Brian Boitano do!"

"Stan, I know for a fact that Brian Boitano is no longer the godly piece of manliness from our childhood. When it all comes down to it, I don't owe that fucking Jew anything."

"Yes you do, Kyle told me about it," Stan stated, smirking at him. "Remember Thomas? The kid with Tourette's?"

"No, doesn't ring a bell."

"Oh? What about when you were about to go on national television with Chris Hanson and Kyle saved you by sending all those pedophiles to the studio?"

"…he told you about that?"

"Dude, he told me everything in case you'd try and screw him over one day."

"That fucking Jew rat!" he hollered. "I'll kill him!"

"Cartman, that's why I'm here. He's already dead."

"Oh? I must be that good then."

"Alright, you know what? Fine, stay here and party. But know this fatass, you will forever be in debt to Kyle and there's no other way you can pay him back other than stopping all the Muslim countries and terrorists from destroying Israel. Thanks for nothing, Fatass."

With that, Stan marched out of his house, more than likely intending on leaving him here so that he would be late to school again but it wasn't the threat of another detention for being late for the twentieth time that caused him to run after the jock. It was mentioning that there was no other way to repay a debt to a Jew other than protecting Israel, something he was rooting to collapse anyway.

Oh Goddamn it. He would not now nor ever be in debt to a Jew! At least, not ever again!

"Stan? Hey Stan! Wait! I changed my mind!"


	20. Coincidences

Author's Note: Not much to say about this chapter other than it feels like complete filler. Still, one last OC to introduce and I apologize for the late arrival d r a m a t i s . e c h o but to be perfectly honest, I had forgotten that you had submitted Sofia. No excuses for me but better late than never, yes? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Coincidences

Hope found that the high school looked even more drab than usual. Maybe it was because people had to get up to go to school, maybe it was because some people looked more depressed because of what the whole town knew.

To be honest, she was a bit more concerned with how Cartman was taking the news that one of his friends was dead. She had gotten up early that morning and had tried to call him up before she went to school only to get his mother saying that he had just left with one of his "little friends."

So she was back here, Cartman-less and surrounded by a bunch of sad people.

Oh joy.

But it wasn't like she could blame them. Kyle was found out to be dead and a bunch of girls who had a crush on him were in mourning for a relationship they had never had the guts to try and start.

For example, right over there she could see Kenny McCormick's cousin looking quite sad, the girl's best friend Robyn O'Neil at her side trying to comfort her while looking just as sad as the girl she was trying to comfort. And right over there, she could see Bebe Stevens (oh God, why'd she have to be so loud, the blond bitch) was wailing, whining about how the world had lost a tight ass or something like that.

She passed by Kyra McCloud who was looking as if either someone close to her was either dead or she could a B- on a test. Probably the latter. Siryn over there was looking a bit perky yet you could tell she was also a bit downtrodden.

In fact, there seemed to be only one person of the female gender that seemed relatively unaffected and that was the auburn haired, scarf and skirt wearing figure by the name of Sofia Lynd. She didn't really have much against Sofia, personally, but there were times when the girl came off as arrogant, especially if it involved getting a wrong answer to a question or you were sounding incredibly stupid.

Yet she was sure that Sofia had also been close to Kyle.

However, as she passed the girl, she saw Sofia's eyes were slightly puffy and were red-tinged, as if she had been simultaneously crying and smoking a joint or several. That might explain the calm; Sofia was probably so high right now that she was just barely functioning right now.

Feeling the urge, she reached out patted the girl on the shoulder, as if saying "there, there, it'll be all right" but getting no response from the girl.

Yeah, she thought as much.

She watched as Sofia trudged away and her gaze fell back onto Kyra. She sighed to herself; as much as she was not in the mood for this, she knew she had see what was up with the girl and see what she could do about it. Else, she'd spend the rest of the day with it on her mind, worrying about it until she couldn't stand it anymore.

If anything, it might help her get over the disappointment of not talking with Cartman.

To be honest, she had no idea that Kyra was as depressed as she was. At first glance, you'd just thought she was tired, as if she had just gotten up, but right now, she was really beginning to think that maybe this wasn't the best thing to do first thing in the morning. Still, she had made a commitment and she was going to go through with it.

"Why the long face?" she greeted, placing a hand soothingly on the girl's shoulder.

Kyra only sighed, as if the weight of the whole world was on her shoulders.

Aw man…

"You…you need to talk about it?" she winced at how uncertain she sounded.

Surprisingly, Kyra answered. "Have you ever felt like your heart was ripped right out of your body?"

How…graphic.

Before she could answer, Kyra continued, "Never mind, you probably have more important things to worry about than my problems. Just ignore me…yeah…just, just go on."

She stood there as Kyra also trudged away. Wow, she must have had something for Kyle and it must have been really getting to her. She noticed Wendy walking by, saying something about Stan not being here but she didn't pay it any mind.

She was beginning to think that maybe she should focus on her problems more…

* * *

Joshua was running late but he wasn't worried by getting a tardy or probably a detention for being late, again. He's was too tired to be worried by something like that, especially after watching The Evil Dead Trilogy. Man that Bruce Campbell was awesome; groovy man, groovy.

He could probably quote the guy all day long but maybe watching the stuff that made him a B list superstar on a school night wasn't the best of ideas. But damn it, it had been worth it.

He pulled up into the school parking lot, shutting off the ignition to his jeep and practically falling out of the vehicle as he scrambled to get to the building.

Wow, he needed to be careful. That was almost how he got that scar and broken nose of his. People never really knew the real story behind it but he wasn't keen on letting others find out about it. How embarrassing would it be if people found out that your battle scars were actually from falling off a bicycle of all things?

As he hurried over to the school, he skidded to a halt as he heard the bell blare, signaling that he was once again late. Oh well, he'd grin and bear it and get ready for watching the Bourne movies so that he could see Matt Damon kick some ass.

…no homo.

There was some movement to his right and looked towards the back of the school curiously, noticing that the small guy in the trenchcoat was walking towards him. He stood his ground, watching the guy approach and then pass him, heading into the school. It took him a moment to figure out that the midget was the same person who Charlie had a thing for and he had to wonder, what the fuck did she see in him?

Now that he recalled, he remembered the times when the little guy had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was crazy. Hell, the guy had threatened him to keep away from Charlie or he'd cut his testicles off, and that was the word he used! Who the hell used the word testicle when threatening someone? Honestly.

Maybe he'd have to amend watching the Bourne Trilogy and pick up Delta Force with a little Sidekicks on the side. In the meantime, what exactly was that guy doing behind the school? Sure he was late but did that really matter? What more was a few more minutes when it was inevitable he'd get bitched at by the teacher.

So to the back of the school he went, noticing only the dumpsters closed and nothing else.

Wait, since when were the flaps on the dumpsters ever closed? The janitors here were so lazy that they left them open so they wouldn't have to open them later, even if it was raining! Wet garbage was not something fun to be around, and he knew that from experience.

He opened the flaps up and glanced into the large receptacles, the first thing popping out at him being too large, empty jugs. Picking one up, he narrowed his eyes and read the small print on the label.

What the hell was potassium dichromate? Did it have to do with bananas? Was the school trying to poison them and collect on some life insurance policies that they didn't know about again? Eh, what the fuck ever. He'd wait until Kenny took a bite and if the guy keeled over, then he would know they were being poisoned.

He closed the flaps to the dumpster and headed to the rear exit to the school. It was closer and every one had this opinion that you were some kind of rebel if you did that. Not that he cared, he just wanted to get inside and get the shit he was about to face over with.

* * *

Craig knew something was up when the school's Boo Radley showed up late and ignored the teacher who was pissed off that his class was interrupted. There was no glare, no reaction from the kid in the black trenchcoat and that Craig found odd.

He was a stickler for ritual, for routine. He always noticed when it was being violated and he shared a look with Jess who just so happened to be looking at him. She wasn't getting the pointed look he was sending her, instead strangely reddening for some reason. It wasn't like someone had just called her out all of a sudden or she had made a fool of herself so he didn't get why it was happening.

Sometimes, he swore he was surrounded by morons. From the grown-ups who overreacted to everything to idiots who got him sent to Peru, he swore that he was the only normal person in this town. Yeah, he got into a lot of trouble and knew the principal's office inside out by now but what kid didn't get into trouble at school?

Really people, couldn't there be something ordinary going on around here? Was that too much to ask for?

Okay, back to the matter at hand, their local recluse was not acting his usual way so what was up his ass this time? It looked like his pet guinea pig had died or something; he didn't know if the guy even owned a guinea pig or even a dog but he looked…sad? Depressed?

Well, whatever, he was dour, or more dour than usual. This was a sign, an omen if you will, that something was about to happen that would disturb his carefully crafted, completely dull life.

As class dragged on, he kept an eye out, looking for any other sign that might signal to him that boredom was about to be a thing of the past. All he noticed was that the guy in the trenchcoat was looking completely out of it, as if his mind was somewhere else. When the bell rang, the guy was the first out of there, his coat flapping out behind him but as soon as he was gone, Craig felt as if the world was back on track again.

Huh, wonder what that meant?

* * *

"Seriouslah, Stan, I'm going to fucking kill you," Cartman whined. "Why the hell are you dragging me all the way out here anyway?"

"Well, duh, this is where Kyle was found," Stan shouted back at the fatass. "There's gotta be something around here that might clue us in on what happened."

"Stan, the cops probably already have it," Cartman complained as he rested his weight against a tree that creaked ominously.

"The cops are also stupid," he retorted before stopping then jumping behind a tree. "Hide!" he hissed.

A moment later, they could hear Officer Barbrady pass by, saying, "You kids shouldn't be here! This is police property and uh…well, there's nothing to see here anyway!"

Passing by, Stan could see the Goth kids pass by, all four looking ticked. "God, you are such a conformist," he heard one say outloud.

"Yes, yes I am," Barbrady agreed, "and this place is no place for smoking! And why aren't you in school anyway?"

"Because it's too conformist," the fat Goth chick answered, the name Henretta popping up in Stan's head.

"Yeah, why would we want to be surrounded by a bunch of conformist?" the Goth with the curly hair added.

"Oh, well, still, you shouldn't be out here smoking!" Barbrady stated as he and the Goth kids vanished from sight.

"Christ, a bunch of black wearing hippies," Cartman groaned.

"Shut it fatass," Stan hissed. "We're almost there."

"We better, because I am going to kick your ass for this when we're done," Cartman huffed. "Damn it, we have a test today!"

"Like you'd pass it anyway," Stan scoffed. "Now come on!"

"Damn hippie jock," Cartman muttered under his breath. "Dragging me out into the middle of nowhere to help out a dead Jew."

"You say something?"

"I did but you're the Virgin Mary if you think I'm going to repeat myself."

"Whatever."

Passing under the yellow police tape, the raven-haired teen scanned the area, looking around for anything that might have been missed. Cartman didn't even bother, panting from the physical exertion he had to do thus far and dreading the trek back to the car already. As the minutes ticked by, Stan grew frustrated as he found nothing.

Hell, he didn't even know the spot where Kyle's skull was found!

Peeved, he kicked at a nearby tree, half expecting something to come falling out of it…only to get not a fucking thing! Damn it! Who knew this was going to be harder than he thought it would? Why couldn't this just be like all those adventures they had when they were kids? Sure they were ridiculous at times but things always fell into place!

Or maybe he was going at this the wrong way? Back when the Japanese were still killing whales, he had asked the question why. After joining Whale Wars, he had forgotten about that question but as it turned out it was integral to ultimately solving the problem…as well as having the Japanese declare a blood feud on cows and chickens.

So that would mean…who would want to kill Kyle?

Slowly his eyes drifted over to Cartman.

…He was the only person who would want to kill Kyle and he had tried in the past…

Watching the fatass do absolutely nothing, it occurred to him that there was a reason that Cartman may have come here; it wouldn't be the first time he faked him out, like using him and Kyle to trick the Tenormans into trespassing and getting killed. What were the odds that Cartman wanted him to bring him up here so that he could get his hands onto some evidence he might have left by accident?

Then again, there was one too many variables for something like this to come back and plus, Cartman was stupid enough to get himself caught much earlier than this. Or maybe that was exactly what the fatass wanted him to think?

Better get the fatass out of here just in case. This was much more serious than a case of lice and a sock bath wouldn't solve anything.

"Stan? Can we go now?" Cartman huffed. "This place is starting to creep me out. C'mon, we can go back to my house and play hooky. My mom might make some potpie."

Go back to Cartman's house and possibly become a potpie to feed him? Is that what Cartman did; eat Kyle? By God, he was a monster!

He promptly vomited, his breakfast puddling on the ground.

"Sick!" Cartman exclaimed. "Christ Stan, that can't be healthy. I got a guy up in Denver who could fix that for you for about twenty bucks."

"For the thousandth time, I'm not getting gastric bypass surgery," Stan growled, wiping the acidic spittle from his mouth.

"Hey, is there someone there?" came Barbrady's voice and the two boys froze.

"Cheese it!" Cartman cried and both were fleeing into the foliage as the overweight, incompetent cop returned onto the scene.

Unknowingly standing in Stan's vomit, the policeman said, "Huh. I could've sworn somebody else was here. Maybe the crack's wearing off again."

* * *

Sofia Lynd: **d r a m a t i s . e c h o**


	21. Pride before the Fall

Author's Note: This chapter is the one that changes everything. The real plot is soon beginning, no more stalling or filler. The dance of the devils is beginning; the summary will be making a lot of sense soon. So tell me what ya'll think. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Pride before the Fall

Computer Info System, or CIS for the uninitiated, was a joke at South Park High. The teacher was behind in the technology department, still believing that e-mail was something new, and completely incompetent.

That was the reason why so many students wanted to take that class; essentially it was a free period where you could surf the net and get an easy A. That was the reason Charlie was taking it since she really didn't feel like having to work too hard. It could easily be said that this was her favorite class for that reason.

That and the fact she got a good vantage point to look at Bain Cynis who wouldn't look up from his monitor come the end of the world. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to do so since other people teased her for it but today Bain was rapidly typing at his computer, as if actively searching for something.

Yeah, she had believed the stereotype that Bain knew everything so when it came to times where he didn't know something, she was a bit surprised but quick to taunt him about it. Every once in a while, he would look away from his computer and look as if he was writing something down. She wanted to know what it was he was looking at and taking notes on but she was on the other side of the class and the teacher was stubborn about everyone remaining seated until the bell rang.

Sure, a bunch of people had tested the teacher's will but that rebellion stopped when the teacher had them debug all the computers, whether or not the pieces of technological equipment had viruses or not. It was tedious work but it was a good deterrent, let her tell you.

But back to the matter at hand, she was still curious about what Bain was doing. This was a bit out of character for him, she would know since she always kept him in eyesight. No, it wasn't because she was crushing on him; it was just so he couldn't sneak up on her and stab her. Last time he tried that, he ended up with a broken switchblade and a couple missing teeth that were soon replaced with fillings.

That didn't stop him from trying again but he did it with less frequency nowadays.

Drawing upon what she knew of the boy, she managed to pick up that he was…nervous? Bain? Nervous? Something must have knocked him off his high horse. She'd have to thank whoever did it later.

"Stop ogling your boy toy," she heard Joshua say to her and she whipped her eyes over to the disfigured boy who was grinning out at.

"I'm not ogling," she defended, too quickly for her tastes but never mind that, and Joshua just gave her a cheeky grin in return.

"If you like him so much, why don't you marry him already and make the Antichrist?" Joshua teased back. "You'd make some psychiatrist out there rich from all the problems you'd give the kid."

"Fuck you," she stated, though not loud enough to get the teacher's attention as said teacher was busy reading through a computer manual with a frown on his face, mumbling, "So it's Ctrl, Alt, Delete to restart? Huh."

Your taxes at work people.

"Really? Meet me out back and you can fuck me there," he said, winking at her.

"Well, if you want Bain pissed at you again, by all means," she retorted, smirking at him.

"Why'd you ever get involved with him?" he sighed. "That guy's a fucking maniac, I swear. You know he was late today? I think he was throwing something away at the back of the school. Couldn't really tell what it was."

"Who doesn't?" Charlie rolled her at him. "I throw stuff away at the back of the school; we all do."

"Huh. Guess I must be looking at things too deeply," Joshua groused. "By the way, do you know what potassium dicho…dichim…di-something is?"

"What?" she asked, frowning.

"I found these two empty jugs in the dumpster behind the school and the label said potassium di-something," Joshua shrugged.

Charlie's frown deepened as something about what he was saying was striking a chord with her.

"Is this the stuff you're talking about?"

She turned around to her other side and stared at Siryn who was pointing at her monitor. On it was a Wikipedia page that was titled _potassium dichromate_ in a large font. "It's some acid that's used in photography," Siryn shrugged. "At least, that's what this site says."

Photography? Potassium dichromate? Bain and the dumpster behind the school? She turned back to Joshua and demanded, "Were those jugs about yea high," she demonstrated with her hands showing about a couple feet of space between the limbs, "and had a label that was printed with red ink?"

"Dude, it's like you're reading my mind," Joshua said in wonder.

She had seen a jug like that before, in fact it was only last night and she had been with Bain at the time as he had loaded several of them in the trunk of his car after "purchasing" them at a photography store. But he had said they were for his mother. What was he doing dumping empty jugs of acids at school? His mother didn't use that stuff; only gave them away as part of some flirting game.

Once again, Bain wasn't being honest but then again, when was he ever? Sure he was straightforward but being straightforward didn't mean you were honest. Bain would definitely know that distinction and use it against her, like he did with almost everything.

On a whim, she went to Google and typed in "serial killer" and "acid." Up popped names such as John George Haigh, a.k.a. the Acid Bath Murderer, Javed Iqbal, and finally Jeffery Dahmer, the Minneapolis Monster. Also there were several links to Velvet Acid Christ but she figured that some kind of emo band or something.

Then she paused. Did she think that Bain was a serial killer? Her eyes returned to the sight of Bain still typing furiously and every once in a while writing something down.

Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her…

"What's that shit?" Joshua asked, breaking her from her musings. "What the hell is Velvet Acid Christ and is Serial Killer 101 really a song? Huh, maybe I should go watch the Hannibal Lector movies tonight…"

"Eww," Siryn groaned, her nose scrunching.

"What? You just don't have any taste for cinematic works," Joshua said.

"Hey, I have an uncle who works in Hollywood," Siryn defended.

"Whatever," Joshua rolled his eyes, before going back to Charlotte. "Hey Charlie, want to come over and watch Hannibal the Cannibal with me?"

Charlie tore her gaze away from Bain and back to Joshua. "Huh? Sure, whatever."

Now she wished had been paying more attention because Joshua's eyes lit up as if she had just said yes to letting him nail her. "Oh this is going to be great!" he squealed, attracting some unwanted attention from those around them. "God! It's gonna be like a date only cooler!"

Charlie looked away from the guy and noticed that Bain's eyes were directly on her but instead of the usual intensity he threw at her, they were blank and they only connected their sights for a moment before he was looking back at his computer and working again. She had felt a chill go up her spine and she began wondering if dismissing him from being a suspect was a little premature.

* * *

Bain scoffed and looked away from Charlotte. Let the whore do whatever the fuck she wanted. He had more important things to do.

On his screen, he was also conducting a search but in the box was "Damien" and "demons" instead.

And he had found a treasure trove of information…

* * *

Stan found himself in the one place he didn't want to be: in Cartman's living room with said fatass, sitting on the couch and watching old Terrance and Phillip episodes. Sure he let out a chuckled every now and then but really he was bored out of his mind.

Only another reason why not to place hooky with Cartman anymore.

"Mom! We're out of Cheezy Poofs!" the fatass whined.

"Coming poopsiekins," the happy homemaker replied, entering the living room with an armful of the bagged snacks and setting them down on the couch next to her son. "Is there anything else you'll need?"

Looking around at all the dishes of food and various snacks that surrounded the couch, Cartman said, "Nah, I think we're kewl for now."

As Ms. Cartman left, Stan said, "How long are you going to keep her as your personal slave?"

"Well, she wouldn't be in this situation if she kept her legs closed and didn't whore around all the time," Cartman snapped back. "I'm just teaching the bitch a lesson. She's needs a man in her life who's going to say 'Eh! Bitch, you better make me my goddamn dinner!' It's 'riscipline Stan. 'Riscipline."

"Dude, that is so gay and conformist."

Cartman sighed. "Stan, I don't know what goes on in your head sometimes but why did you have to bring these losers to _my_ house?"

On the far end of the couch and sprawled against it and on the floor were the four Goth kids, each one with a lit cigarette in their mouths.

"Dude, this show is so non-conformist," the Goth with the red hair commented, whipping his head back to flip his long bangs out of his face.

"Like totally," Henretta agreed, letting out a puff of smoke.

"I'm gonna totally be non-conformist and not agree with you guys," said the Goth with the curly hair.

"Oh snap," the red haired Goth said.

"They were just standing there in the middle of nowhere," Stan argued. "I couldn't let them stay on the side of the road to freeze to death."

"Yes Stan, yes you could," Cartman said back. "It's easy; just press down on the accelerator and there they go fading away in the distance. Damn it, I wished that ho would get me my own damn car by now."

"Shut up ya conformist," the red haired Goth said. "We're, like, trying to watch TV here."

"God I hate you assholes," Cartman grumbled as he picked up a bag of Cheezy Poofs and did what he did best.

Wallow in self pity.

* * *

Her smile was crooked as she sat in her seat, just watching Wendy Testaburger and wondering what was it about her that had Stan always running back to her.

Kyra knew it was desperate of her and that any rational person would have given up and looked elsewhere but she found that she couldn't give up on Stan Marsh. She was already insecure as a person so watching the boy she had a crush on barely acknowledge her was only more detrimental to her psychological health.

If she wasn't so determined to look like the perfect student, she would scream out loud right now and tear her hair out. But like always, she held herself back and repressed those urges.

Then she would see Wendy again and the recriminations would start all over again.

It wasn't fair. Why did it seem like every slutty girl out there could get the guy of her dreams while someone like her who worked her ass off got absolutely nothing? She kept her grades up, tried to be the best at whatever she did, had quite the reputation on the gaming circuits, but the guy she liked didn't even know she freakin' existed!

Meanwhile, those like Wendy who seemed to have everything handed to them on a silver platter never had to know what it was like to never get their way. Never had to have everything they worked hard for get taken from them and given to someone else. It wasn't like Wendy was some self-absorbed bitch like some painted her to be (she did after all care about her friends) as she too worked to get what she wanted.

Was it because of who she was friends with? Well, yeah, Wendy was friends with Bebe Stevens, the school gossip, who made and broke relationships all the time, almost everyday. Or was it because more people liked her? Or was it something else she hadn't considered yet? She just wanted to know!

Yeah, Hope had tried to talk with her earlier but she just wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone. It was as if no one was bothering to talk about it, talk about the fact that Wendy and Stan were with one another again. Sure it wouldn't be the first time but when they got back together, someone at least mentioned it in passing.

It was always a "Marsh and Wendy are on again," or "they're back together." Vague sounding, sometimes, but everyone here knew exactly what they meant. And no matter how many times she heard them, it hurt her each and every time.

So why wasn't she hearing them now? She had seen them getting back together last night! Perhaps by not saying anything, she was trying to try and pretend that what she had seen hadn't happened, that it was all part of her imagination.

Denial, thy name is Kyra.

Was she jealous? Maybe. Were there times she wanted nothing more than to tear out all of Wendy's hair and disfigure her so badly that no one would ever recognize her again? …the thought had popped up once or twice…

Yet, she never let herself do anything, just sit on the sidelines and watch as events passed her by.

Maybe she was getting a bit too depressed over this; maybe what she needed to do was play some games…

* * *

The day passed slowly, much to Damien's liking. It gave him more time to fool around and torture unsuspecting mortals, making their lives even more hellish than before. Cheating husbands getting caught by their wives, drug addicts losing their money before they could get their next hit, suicidal people's guns jamming or ropes breaking before their deeds could be done.

All in a day's work, really.

But now it was time for the highlight of the day, or should it be evening? Whatever, the sun had set and he was back at the front door of the Cynis residence where his prey undoubtedly lay waiting. His smirk was even more predatory than usual as he knew they would be alone.

Only just a few minutes ago, he had seen the mortal's parents depart, leaving Bain Cynis home alone.

No one would answer his screams if Damien found cause for them to be emitted.

He rang the doorbell and waited patiently, his patience rewarded as the door unlocked and the heterochromatic mortal met him gaze for gaze. It was a silent standoff before Bain shrugged and said, "Come in."

All the more easier for him to do wickedness when he was invited in.

Bain led him up the steps and into what the Antichrist guessed to be his bedroom. He raised an eyebrow at how barren it was but then put it out of his mind; the decorating skills of an anti-social mortal meant absolutely nothing to him.

"I've done some research on you," Bain began as he sat down in a chair set right in front of a desk. "I admit, I am surprised that the Antichrist of all people is gracing me with his presence."

"Damning," Damien corrected. "I don't grace anyone."

Bain grimaced. "Quite."

"Let's cut to the chase," he interrupted before Bain could say anymore. "I want to know why you've been killing our fledglings and to order you to stop."

"I would," Bain shrugged, "but it just so happens that I have no idea which girls are possessed and which ones aren't. I've thought about this matter and found that ultimately, it was just a matter of people, time, and place. The demons chose the wrong people, at the wrong time, and in the wrong place. Coincidence and nothing more."

"And this argument of yours is suppose to sway me?" he taunted.

"It's the truth," Bain replied. "I have no motive for killing your 'fledglings' and yet that doesn't excuse the fact that I have ended their time up here prematurely. However, I am not going to stop what I'm doing just because you're pissed off that some of your demons are getting killed up here."

Damien grinned wickedly. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Now hold on," Bain said, holding a hand up. "I have a proposition for you."

Damien frowned, "Are you trying to bribe me mortal?"

"Think of it as a way to put this matter to a rest," Bain explained. "I propose that we play a little game. If you win, you can do whatever the hell you want with me. Kill me, imprison me, enslave me, torture me, whatever you want. But, if I win, then you will give to me your freedom."

"Freedom?" Damin asked skeptically.

"Simply put, you will be my slave and do whatever I order you to do," Bain stated. "That is, if _I_ win. So, do we have a deal?" The mortal held out his hand, a clear sign that he wanted to shake hands as a sign of agreement.

It wasn't common knowledge that he, the Antichrist, was a competitive person. It was a trait he had inherited from his father; he loved playing games, especially since he always won. With the exception of golf, a certain boxing match, and an occasional fiddle contest, his father was the same way. There were stories about his father engaging in games with mortals and other things; the stories, though, were doctored so that it made him seem like he lost all the time. Not true, but hey, his father was the one to doctor them so it gave mortals a hope of winning.

Of course, then his father would crush them and then own their souls for all eternity, but hey, it was the mortals who agreed to the terms.

Here, though, a mortal was offering the same terms, though instead of having him give something valuable like gold or power, the mortal was requesting his freedom. He had no idea what would happen if he lost but he knew that that wasn't possible.

He hadn't lost a game, ever. Not since the time his father had come up to this fucking redneck town.

There was really only one answer he could give.

"You're on," he said, grinning as he shook the mortal's hand and felt the thrill of something occurring, as if setting the terms in stone or something. "So, mortal, what is your game?"

Bain then grinned wickedly at him. "Roshambo."

Damien frowned. Roshambo? What the hell kind of game was that? He had never heard of it before. He said as much to the mortal, purposely ignoring the gleam in those different colored eyes.

"Oh, it's simple," Bain said lackadaisically. "We kick each other in the testicles until one of us falls to the floor or ground in agony."

"Wait—" Damien began.

"I go first!" Bain said quickly and before Damien could do anything, the mortal was on his feet and kicking his foot right up into his groin.

Pain exploded in his body, radiating directly from his groin and he saw stars before his eyes as his hands clutched his balls. He could swear that he felt one of them pop…

Something happened; he couldn't tell what it was but it felt as if something was leaving him. He found that he had closed his eyes and when he cracked them opened, he found that half of his vision was nothing but carpeting.

What…?

"Yes…" he heard hissed from above, followed by a dark chuckle. That dark chuckle soon turned into a maniacal laugh that sounded unhinged and ominous at the same time.

It was only then that he realized the truth.

He had lost.

* * *

Oh, it had been a genius move to filch his father's steel-toed boots. Sure they barely fit him and he had trouble walking with them but in the end, it had all paid off. On the floor of _his_ room was the Antichrist himself…and now said Antichrist belonged to him.

Endless possibilities flashed before his mind and Bain felt a joy explode within him that he hadn't felt since before an untimely incident at his father's warehouse.

The power of the Antichrist himself was now in his possession, symbolized by a pitch black, miniature conch shell that had materialized in his hands the moment Damien had collapsed against the floor.

All day he had been researching the Antichrist, finding lots of stuff from Revelations and that Omen movie but then he had started looking up his father, Satan and made begun forming a theory. That theory, of course, was like father, like son. Heredity and inheritance. The Antichrist had to have inherited some traits from his father, be they physical or mental. Satan liked playing games with mortals, thus he had hypothesized that his son would share the same interest.

Looks like he had been proven right.

Yet what was he to do now? What would someone like him do with limitless powers at his command?

He smiled. He already knew.

"I hope you don't stay down there too long," he said out loud. "You'll be needing to earn your keep soon, and I have just the task in mind for you to do."

Both were heedless to the unnaturally dark cloud that formed outside, encompassing the whole of South Park.


	22. Weird Happenings

Author's Note: In this chapter, you're all going to find out the real reason why I was asking for OCs. For those that have read my earlier stuff, this shouldn't be a surprise to you and you should already know what I'm capable of. Because of that, I'm thinking of bumping the rating up to M. Tell me if you guys think I should or just leave it at T. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Weird Happenings

Katie was getting better; any nightmares that she had been having were starting to go away, meaning that she wasn't afraid to go to sleep anymore. For awhile, every time she would close her eyes, her vivid imagination would show her all sorts of horrible images of dead bodies with decaying flesh and blood spilled all over.

For a time, she had trouble going out of her house, fearing that there was someone watching her, wanting to kill her. Now, she was one for adventure and this wasn't the first time someone had tried to kill her but she could feel some sort of maliciousness in those eyes, a cruelty that promised nothing but unending torment.

So she had taken to sticking around large crowds and hardly going alone anywhere. But as time passed, she was beginning to regain her more upbeat persona.

Before she knew it, she would be back to exploring the mysteries of the world and saving the mole people from a crab people invasion again. Such fun times.

Currently, she was in the bathroom, massaging moisturizer into her skin as well as some anti-acne cream. Hey, she needed to work to keep up these good looks of hers and she wasn't naïve enough to let them go to shit.

Letting the stuff soak into her skin, she wiped off any excess creams and lotions with a damp towel, pausing as she took in her tired looking reflection in the mirror. She could see the dark circles around her eyes, a clear sign that she hadn't been getting a lot of sleep recently. Opening up the nearby medicine cabinet, she stared at a small bottle of sleeping pills that sat on a shelf innocently.

She bit her lip, wondering whether or not to take one so that she could get some sleep; her father, the dull corporate packmule that he was, told her she could take some if she was having trouble sleeping and while she hadn't taken him up on the offering, she was beginning to wonder if it couldn't hurt to try them once.

She really needed to get some sleep so she popped open the bottle and shook out a couple pills, staring at the white tablets contemplatively.

Capping the bottle, she put it away and shut the medicine cabinet closed only to jump as she saw another person in the cabinet's mirror.

She spun around, dropping the pills, to face the dark clad intruder but froze in place as she caught sight of two red eyes that were glowing with an eerie light. It was definitely a boy there but he expressed no emotion. No matter how hard she tried, she found she couldn't move a muscle, as if some otherworldly force had taken over her body.

Said force jerked her around like a puppet and she found herself facing the bathroom mirror again but instead of seeing her reflection, she saw that of another boy, this one in a trenchcoat. One brown eye and one green eye peered into her own and she shivered at the malevolence that radiated from the boy.

The spark of a memory, of seeing this same boy lurking around the school, popped in her mind yet she couldn't put a name to him. But she knew who he was by his reputation alone; he was the crazy guy that everyone believed to be a psychopath, a murderer because of some incident at a party. She hadn't been there herself and was kinda sad to have missed out on the excitement.

"Nosy little bitch," the boy suddenly said and her eyes widened as she heard his voice, as if he was in the room with her. "You just had to be a globetrotting shit, didn't you. You found something of mine and took it away from me."

She tried to swallow and ask what he was talking about but whatever was controlling her didn't give her the freedom to do that. The scenery around the reflection of the boy changed from that of her bathroom and into the outdoors, a familiar place actually. The boy's hand disappeared from sight only to return holding the skull that had haunted her dreams for so long.

"This," he hissed menacingly. "This was mine! Now's it's sitting in some evidence locker gathering dust! However, I am pleased to say that there is something I can do to teach you, teach you that touching other people's things is a no-no that will not be tolerated. Now let's see…"

The boy moved his other arm and she found that one of hers was acting identically to his, opening a drawer and searching through it, looking for something.

"Well what do we have here?" the boy sneered, her hand pulling out of the drawer to reveal that it was holding one of her dad's razor blades. "Yes, this will do nicely."

Her eyes were tearing up, the tears leaking out and falling down her cheeks, the one thing that didn't seemed to be taken from her.

"Now don't give me that look," the boy chided. "It's a futile action; it won't change anything. Now, if I remember correctly, you women don't like getting the floor dirty so let's make it easy on you and head over here…"

Her body jerked and she began walking towards the bathtub and as much as she tried to resist, she couldn't. She tried to look pleadingly at the dark clad boy but he remained impassive, stepping aside so that he was not blocking her view of the tub. She got in and held the razor just over her arm. She was trembling, on the verge of crying yet unable to while trying to resist whatever was controlling her.

"This will teach you to fuck with other people's things," she heard the boy's voice chuckle. "Now remember, it's down the street, not across!"

The razor pressed into and cut through her skin and dragged down her arm, blood spilling out as she sliced through veins and arteries. She whimpered at the pain that shot out from her arm and then as she pulled the razor out of her arm, she took it steadily in her other and proceeded to slit her other arm.

The blood spilled out into the tub and she felt dizzy from the bloodloss, slowly sinking down into the tub as her life spilled out from her. Towering over her, the dark clad boy with the red eyes gazed down at her, doing absolutely nothing as she slowly sank into unconsciousness and then oblivion.

* * *

Bain clutched at his bathroom counter, his body trembling not with anxiety but in the surge of pleasure he had felt as he had slain that nosy bitch from where he stood. The powers of the Antichrist, they were surely something.

To think that he would be able to kill someone and be at an entirely different location altogether, it defied everything he knew!

But that heady feeling, the same one that came whenever he took a life, was still there and it was just as addicting as all the other times. He had been truthful when he had told Charlotte White that serial killers were addicted to murder; he had been speaking about himself as well as echoing what other "experts" had to say about it.

The playing field was changing now, whereas he had confined himself to runaways and the one-time Jew, he now had a smorgasbord of potential victims to choose from. Victims in which he could never be physically linked to, solid alibis protecting him from all police scrutiny. Sure he would be a suspect, but the physical law that no one can be in two places at once would be an insurmountable defense.

"Having fun?" Damien's sarcastic voice spoke from behind him.

He spun around, glaring at the Antichrist's audacity in sneaking up on him. Yet, he answered, "For your information, yes."

Damien merely grunted and headed back to his room. Bain smirked after the other and followed. Upon entering his room, he headed over to his desk and pulled out a drawer filled with all sorts of notebooks, seemingly pulling one out at random and opening it up.

"What's that?" Damien asked begrudgingly.

In a generous mood, he answered, "A little something I've been putting together for quite some time." He set the notebook down, revealing what looked like a chart or maybe a family tree. "For years, I have been making a potential blueprint of a slaying spree. It's nothing much, really, just a diagram of various individuals in this town and how I would go about killing them. A fantasy, really, once upon a time."

"I've met many fucked up mortals before," Damien commented, leaving the rest unsaid yet hanging in the air.

"Like I care what you think of me," Bain snorted. "The only thing I care about are the possibilities that you have opened up for me. Oh, there are so many people in this town that need to be exterminated and I have right here a series of suggestions of what to do to them and when."

Damien merely shook his head, not saying anything that was not neutral.

"Tomorrow," Bain uttered, his eyes gleaming in homicidal pleasure, "tomorrow will begin a new era in this town; my era. An era of terror with no end and all the helpless human cattle I can have to kill. It's a shame that we don't have a river running nearby because before I'm done, it shall run red."

* * *

Suicide wasn't an uncommon thing in South Park as many of its inhabitants had done it, either on purpose or by accident. They did it either because they didn't want to become Homeless, because they had supported McCain, or even the accidental deaths of Kenny McCormick whenever he dressed up in a Batman costume and tried to erotically asphyxiate himself.

That fact that it was Katelyn Blaire who was the victim, brought a mixed response. Some surprised because she had seemed fine the day before while others weren't because they expected it as a symptom of her depression.

The fact remained, though, that the once outgoing girl was dead and unlike Kenny, she wasn't coming back.

And wasn't it always the paradox that people only spoke good things about you when you were dead, yet only said bad things when you were alive? Katie was no exception to this yet the kids at South Park High found themselves scrambling for those good memories as most people had found her irritating.

For Michael Jeeves, who was accustomed to loss, he could mourn the loss of life yet not make a public episode about it. Nobody really noticed him anyway; he was quiet and didn't attract any attention to himself. When he did, it was usually when he wanted someone to stop doing something, such as when Kyra McCloud was pestering Katie the other day.

He was a very private person, preferring to stay out of the drama and chaos that occurred at a daily basis in this town. The personalities and egos that inhabited this town were just so big and overwhelming…

He was the type of guy who went with the flow of things and rarely expressed his emotions outside of his socially awkward communications. When it was discovered that Kyle Broflovski was dead, he said a prayer and went on about his life, already accustomed to the pain came with the loss of a loved one. He had lost his mother in a car crash, the driver of the other car drunk and coming out with not even a scratch.

He was a more sullen version of Butters or Pip, he readily admitted to it. Perhaps it was because there was always a cloud of depression around him and that it acted as a repellant to the bullies of the school. He never reacted, never did anything to attract attention and when you didn't get anything out of a guy, you left them alone.

That, and paying the resident psychopath fifty bucks to get them off his tail did wonders. That was perhaps the most active thing he did to defend himself at school and once again he fell into the shadows of the school where nobody thought to look or pay attention to.

That meant that he was in the right position to witness all the reactions of the student body and no one would give him a second glance.

However, instead of taking advantage of it, he ignored all the talk, preferring that private things remained private, such as the memory of a fellow peer. What did it matter what he thought about it? Seriously.

But the whispers, the gossip, the rumors that flooded the halls, it made it hard to ignore it all.

Ignore them, he tried and was mostly successful. Deep inside him, though, a flame was ignited, one of irritation and with each word he heard, the bigger it grew. Whether he knew it or not, he was heading for an eruption.

And he didn't notice it.

* * *

Stan knew he was going to be late for school but that didn't stop him from slowing down and picking up a struggling Kenny who was being dragged down the side of the road by that cousin of his by his ear.

He hadn't seen the poor boy in a while and had thought that this would be a good opportunity to catch up with him and find out what he was up to.

Kenny sighed as he took shotgun, relieved that his ear was free from being pinched by unrelenting fingers while his cousin, Tori he believed her name was, took a seat in the back looking slightly pissed off.

Oh please God, don't let it be Def Con 1…

"Where you've been?" he asked the blond as he practically floored it. "I've been stuck with Cartman all this time and now I know why Kyle had such a short temper."

"I've been looking into things," Kenny muttered, casting a baleful look at Tori who was also giving him a look. "And I should still be looking into them."

"Kenny, you were dressed up in a Batman costume and had a rope tied to the doorknob of your closet," Tori said dryly.

"Hey, if you gotta go, go out in a pleasurable way."

"Kenny, you were not trying to erotically asphyxiate yourself again were you?" Stan sighed, exasperated.

"First of all, I needed to go see the big man in Hell," Kenny shrugged. "Second, I was trying to see if I could find Kyle and find out what happened to him, and third…third, well, I just wanted to whack off. What's the big deal anyway?"

"But didn't you say you didn't find him the last time you were in Hell?" Stan pointed out.

"That was before I found out that Kyle was dead," Kenny replied. "Now that I know he is for serial, I can really get looking for him."

Stan took his eyes off the road to give the blond a skeptical look. "You mean to tell me you haven't really been looking for him all this time?"

"Watch out!" Tori suddenly screamed, a finger coming in-between the two boys and pointing straight in front of them. Stan snapped his eyes back to the road and slammed on the brakes as he saw a person just standing right in the middle of his lane.

However, he was going too fast and he hit the person. He felt his car lift up and come down, as if it had hit a bump but that didn't faze him as much as a flash of emerald green eyes peering straight into his soul did. He hadn't seen such a pair, and in that hue, in a long time, six months to be exact.

"Holy shit! Did you see that?" Kenny exclaimed as the raven-haired boy was unfastening his seat belt and tearing out of the car. He ran behind the vehicle dreading yet expecting to see a bloody body on the road only to see nothing. He could have sworn he had hit whoever it was that was in front of them…

"What the hell? Where's the body?" Kenny demanded as he appeared at his side, his blue eyes scanning the area.

"Maybe he's under the car?" Tori suggested and the two boys were on their knees, looking under the car.

Stan narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of something and he reached under the car and grabbed the object, noting that it felt soft and furry. He gulped as he dreaded that he had hit an animal. He could never kill them on purpose and got wimpy just from running over squirrels.

This thing was bigger than a squirrel.

Pulling the thing out into daylight, he froze as he stared at a green hat, splotches of dried blood staining it. He knew this hat, knew that Kyle had worn this when he was still alive. But…what was it doing here?

"What is it, Stan?" Kenny demanded as he took in the sight of the hat and paled. "Oh my God…"

As if that broke the spell, he was back to looking under the car, searching for what had to be Kyle. His heart told him that the super best friend was long dead yet his mind grasped for any hope that that nightmare was just that, a nightmare. Yet there was nothing under the car, no sign that there had been anybody on the road.

"This is some freaky shit man," Kenny muttered. "And I'm not even high…damn it!"

He fisted the hat, his body trembling with stress and tension. What the fuck was going on? His ears picked up a dripping sound and it was then that he noticed that blood was dribbling from the hat and he jumped away, dropping the hat at the same time.

His eyes trailed down to where the blood had leaked out and saw something quite peculiar. The blood hadn't puddled on the ground; it had formed something, letters he was sure of.

_Beware_.

The hell? Beware? Beware of what? And why the hell was it in blood?

"That's some freaky shit there," Kenny breathed out, revealing that he too saw the message. "What's going on here?"

He didn't know but he was going to find out, he swore. Something was up and in typical fashion, he was going to find out just what.


	23. Charlie has a Plan

Author's Note: Still wondering about whether or not to up the rating. No one replied or even sent a PM. Kinda makes me wonder if anybody is reading this anymore. Still, I've made the commitment and I will finish this, it's just the updates will be coming out much, much slower. Don't like? Tough is all I have to say. On one last note, there's an allusion to another story on this site but I forget what it was called or who it was by. Thought that it'd be something you'd see in this fandom. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, horror themes

Charlie has a Plan

Charlie thought long and hard about the suicide of Katie Blaire. In some ways it made sense: the girl wasn't her perky self and had looked like she had survived a train wreck. That wasn't including her sense of fashion, which even someone like her could look at and feel the lens of her eyes peeling off.

But then she had talked with Rhiannon, someone who had been there when Katie had made her discovery. Rhiannon didn't think that it had been suicide. In fact, she had been most vocal about it, something odd since Katie wasn't the type of person she usually hung out with. Charlie knew that she'd need to confer with Christophe since he had also been there to see what he thought but nevertheless she thought of reasons why someone would want to kill Katie.

The first was that someone was tired of looking at her that they decided to take the plunge and do it or it was done for revenge. The serial killer would be the only person to have a motive like that but she would need to do a little research to confirm it. Either that or ask Bain about it though that would have to wait also since the nutcase himself hadn't showed up to school yet, a rare occurrence indeed.

Not that she needed _his_ help or anything; he just happened to have some use was all.

Damn it, she was going to have to sneak onto another crime scene. This one, though, was not out in the middle of nowhere being watched over by an inept cop. This one was indoors and swarming with semi-competent cops if from what she had seen from the lead detective was anything to judge by.

What would Sherlock do? The image of the detective snorting a line of cocaine popped up into her head and she immediately disregarded it. Wait, she had an idea! It was going to require ingenuity, balls, audacity—

The door to the classroom slammed open and a red faced Stan and Kenny came in, both panting.

"Sorry we're late!" Kenny exclaimed. "Car trouble."

Garrison stared blandly at the two. "That's nice, now sit down you fucktards. I was in the middle of explaining how to expect someone is about to get amnesia on General Hospital, and yes you all will be tested on this."

…it was going to require Kenny.

She waited until after Garrison finished talking about the pros and cons of deciding whether to get a Big Mac or the Double Quarter Pounder at McDonalds' and class had ended before she approached the blond who had almost conked out.

"Huh? Oh hey Lottery Ticket!" Kenny greeted. "Man, you look ravishing today. Your husband isn't here by any chance, is he?"

"First of all, that's not going to get you anywhere," she stated, "and second, no, he isn't. Now shut up and listen to me, alright? I need to ask a favor from you."

"Ooh, but you know, it's gonna cost you," Kenny shrugged.

"C'mon Kenny," Stan interrupted, approaching the blond. "Stop flirting with…um…what was your name again?"

Charlie stared at Stan dubiously while Kenny rolled his eyes and said, "She's Size C point—er, I mean, Lottery Ticket. You know, Charlie."

"Whatever man, we gotta go," Stan said.

"Now hold on," Charlie demanded. "I gotta talk with him first, okay?"

"Fine, but make it quick," Stan uncharacteristically snapped. "We're gonna be late."

"Alright, alright, don't get your nuts in a twist," Charlie replied. "Kenny, I need your help with something at Katie Blaire's house."

"Size C point 2?" Kenny frowned. "Why?"

"I need to see where she died," she snapped, ignoring the strange name the blond had said, "but I can't since the police are all over the place."

Any lightheartedness that Kenny once had vanished as he stared into her eyes dully. "Excuse me? Did someone just die?"

"Yeah, Katie Blaire," she answered. "You mean you guys haven't heard?"

Both Stan and Kenny traded each other look for look before looking back at her. "Maybe you should start at the beginning," Stan said, taking the lead.

* * *

Yates was finishing up a report when Murphy barged in.

"Hey, Yates, the guys think they might have found something at the woods crime scene."

"Really?" he asked. "What?"

"Well, they found a dried puddle of vomit," Murphy told him. "We're getting it tested at the lab and perhaps we can get some kind of DNA or something."

"DNA from vomit? I didn't think that was possible," Yates commented. "Still, that's good police work there. I'm already polishing the nightstick so it'll be ready."

"Yeah, this case will be a snap!" Murphy agreed.

* * *

Playing hooky was looking to be a staple of his school life, Stan found. Once again, he was out of the school but this time with more enjoyable company. Then again, any company would be better than Cartman's, the fat fuck.

It was easy to tell which house was the dead girls (Christ, he was already forgetting the name!); there was yellow tape all around the house, literally, and cop cars parked all along the streets.

From their hiding spots in the bushes, the three of them watched the circus of investigators and the jock of the three could only wonder how they were going to have to do this. The girl, Charlie (why was she called a boy's name again?), was taking into the sight and seemed to be processing it in her head, nodding to herself as if this was what she had been expecting.

Then Kenny asked, "So what are we going to do? We can't all get past those guys."

"I know," Charlie nodded. "That's why you're here."

"Huh?" Kenny blinked, staring at her uncomprehendingly.

Charlie looked straight into his eyes. "You're a fast runner, right?"

"Why?"

She stood up, balancing a large rock in her hand before flinging it at the nearest cop car, the rock slamming into the windshield and creating a spiderweb of cracks in it. Just as quickly as she stood, she was back in the bush except one hand was on the blond's back and then shoving him out into the open.

"What the hell?" he spat out.

"Hey! You're under arrest kid!" one of the cops cried out, glaring at him from across the street.

"Oh, you suck so badly," Kenny groaned as he took off, a veritable army of cops right on his heels.

Stan stared at Charlie with wide eyes. "Dude! What the hell!"

"They're distracted, now's our chance!" Charlie said and she was out of the bushes again, this time sprinting over to the dead girl's house.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Stan moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he got up and followed after the girl.

In no time, the two were across the street and climbing over the fence into the girl's backyard. Charlie shoved them both against the side of the house and peered around a corner, checking for any cops that might be lingering around before slipping around the corner and creeping to the patio door. A little less stealthy, he followed after the girl as she slid the glass door open, leaving him to close it behind them.

Now in the house, Charlie crept upstairs with Stan on her heels, the girl leading him into the bathroom and ducking under the yellow tape that hung in the doorway.

"Okay, we're here. Now what?" he asked.

Charlie, though, was ignoring him, instead crouched by the bathtub and looking at the blood stained insides of it. Her eyes trailed up and down the tub, as if searching for something but not finding it, instead getting up and heading towards the medicine cabinet to check it out.

Stan peered back to the door, keeping a lookout in case any cops might be coming back if Kenny hadn't run far and fast enough. "C'mon," he murmured, "hurry up!"

"You don't rush these things," the girl hissed back at him. "Jeez, there was enough blood in that tub…and she arms were slit, right? There was a lot, too much, and it looked like it drained out of her. She must have cut herself the right way."

"The right way?" he asked. "There's a right way to cut your wrists?"

"There was this old show some time ago that had a talking, rusted razorblade as a host and he told you all the ways how to kill yourself," she explained. "He said, 'It's down the street, not across fucktards!' But Katie's parents aren't the type who would let her watch a show."

"Hey, I remember watching that," Stan said, grinning goofily at the memory. "Whatever happened to it?"

"Got canned. Some Jewish lady made a fuss about it and got it canceled," she shrugged. "Still, how would Katie know to cut herself the right way? And why would she kill herself in the first place? Yeah, she was depressed but most depressed people don't kill themselves because they are depressed."

"Huh?" he asked blankly.

"What if there was someone else here?" she asked aloud.

"What, someone made her slit her wrists?" he asked skeptically.

However, she wasn't answering him. Instead, she was looking at a spot on the floor that was just behind the open door. Once again she crouched down and looked at it, wiping a thumb into what looked like a scuff mark and bringing it to her nose and sniffing it. Her nose wrinkled and she held her thumb out to Stan.

"Take a wiff of that."

He frowned but did as she asked, backing away from the foul odor immediately. "Dude!" he coughed.

"I think it's soot," she said, ignoring him. "But there's something else in it. Hmm…c'mon, let's get out of here and see if we can't find Kenny."

"Yeah, great idea," he muttered as he ducked under the yellow tape again and led the way out of the house.

It was good that they had decided to leave then. The cops were coming back, all panting and cursing the McCormick boy and both the teens figured that they wouldn't be happy to see anymore teenagers anytime soon.

Time to bail.

One Mission Impossible sequence later, the two were safely away and were met up with a pissed off Kenny who was giving the girl an evil look.

"One of these days, Lottery Ticket, you're luck is going to run out," he said warningly.

"Then I'll have to use it all before I lose it all," the girl shrugged (Damn, he forgot her name too!). "Anyway, take a wiff of this," she said, putting her thumb under the poor boy's nose. Unlike her and Stan, Kenny didn't jerk back or wrinkle his nose. If anything, he frowned and took hold of the girl's arm, pulling it away from his face and looking at her seriously.

"Charlie," he said, "where the hell did you find brimstone in South Park?"

* * *

Said source of brimstone was lounging in the corner of Bain Cynis' Spartan bedroom, looking down and angry all at the same time.

In short, he was pouting.

Just over twelve hours ago, he had been the Antichrist, the bringer of the Apocalypse and evil immortal extraordinaire, on top of the world with abilities humans could only dream of. Now he had been reduced to nothing more than a pitiful human's servant.

It was embarrassing on a level you can't possibly imagine.

His "master," if you could call him that, was at that desk of his, surfing the "internet" (whatever that was) and occasionally doodling in that notebook of his. He had no idea what was going through the mortal's mind and while he wouldn't want to know, this same mortal had control over his future at the moment. Who knew what pissing him off would do? It wasn't that he was afraid, he wasn't, it was just that he had never been in such a position before where he had absolutely no control before.

Well, that was a bit of a lie if you counted when he came to this Godforsaken town when he resembled an eight year old. In fact, instead of being the bully, he had been the bullied despite his demonic powers. The people here, he found out, were something different and whatever it was that made them different hadn't changed in all the years he had been gone.

This is what he got for underestimating his opposition.

"Why the long face?" Bain unexpectedly spoke up even though he hadn't moved an inch to look at him.

He narrowed his eyes at the mortal. "Forgive me for not enjoying your company," he said scathingly.

Bain only snorted. "It's not like I can take you to school with me, Damien. What would people say?"

"I've been given the impression that you don't care what people say about you," he snarked.

"Any ordinary day, you'd be correct," Bain acknowledged. "However, that was the old game. Right now, we're in a new one and appearances are needed right now to deceive those simpletons."

"Oh? What changed?"

"I have you at my beck and call, what else?" Bain replied. "I need some time to plan things, figure out what would give me away and be detrimental. I'm not here to get caught."

"And is that the reason why we're here and not out there killing someone you don't like?" he asked.

"Only an amateur would go on a killing spree," Bain said, rolling his eyes. "No, if you want to hold an extended massacre, you need to plan it just right. That's why we're staying in tonight but tomorrow, well, that's when things are going to start going."

"Oh, so who's the unlucky mortal?"

"That's for me to know, for now," Bain answered. "At this point, all we'll be doing is tying up some loose ends. Besides, another experiment shouldn't hurt anything. It's not like people will miss him."

Most people would be getting the shivers at this point. Hearing someone discuss killing someone so cavalier, however, did not faze Damien in the slightest. He had been surrounded by evil for so long that hearing something like this was just the same as if you were talking about the weather.

It ultimately meant nothing to him, like Canada.

"Well, if procrastinating is the way you want to go, by all means," he said. "Wake me up when your…you need me."

"Don't be drifting into dreamland just yet," Bain said. "I never said anything about resting today, did I?"

"Oh?" the devilspawn lifted his head up. "You actually have something in mind?"

"Heh," the murderer chuckled. "Indeed. "I'd like to see how far a range you have. Tell me, can you reach out to Colorado Springs?"

* * *

Sierra Cynis hated college dorm rooms with a passion. For one thing, you had to _share_ it with a complete stranger and for another thing, everyone was so crude! She hadn't been there one day and all the boys were hitting on her. It wasn't that she didn't like the attention, it was just that all these boys were so foul.

She knew she was better than that, better than anything they could offer, thus turned them all down, looking for the big one. You know, the rich one who she could seduce and live off of.

She had found that person but the relationship had only lasted a month. The guy had been a complete and utter playboy and had played her like a violin. Before she could do anything to hang on to him, he was off on his next conquest, leaving her all alone and covered in disgusting sweat.

She wanted her Mama then, wanted Daddy to come and take her home right then and there. They had always been there before and this time was no different. However, as soon as she came back to university, she got homesick within the first day and wanted to go back home.

Unfortunately, her parent's cell phone batteries had died and her shithead for a brother had picked up the phone at home. Figures that he wouldn't tell Mama and Daddy that she had called. He was always so needy for attention, that brat. She needed it just as much as he did, more so even!

He was so selfish!

And this was in her first month at school! She needed all the support she could get since it seemed like everybody in this freaking place were jerks. Where were the nice people, like back home?

There were also the professor who _expected_ you to do the work and wouldn't help you unless you asked _first_. Come on! It wasn't like she could do this on her own! Did they actually expect her to _learn_ in class?

So okay, she was failing half of her classes right now and none of the teachers were telling her anything about her grades! She had to look them up herself and that had taken her nearly three months to figure out!

Oh, she wanted to go home so badly.

However, she couldn't get a signal on her cell and the dorm's phone line wasn't working for some reason. Sure she could go down to the dorm's center and use the phones they had but the lines were so long she might as well not call.

Instead, she was in her dorm room gathering her stuff and heading to the community shower room. The fact that the dorm was also co-ed did not escape her mind as she made sure she had her shampoo, condition, body wash, and anything else she might need. With a sigh that sounded like she held the weight of the world on her shoulders, she trudged down to the bathrooms.

She was grateful to see that she was all alone here, no filthy boys there messing the place up. She went to the nearest stall, turning on the spray and while the water was warming up, heading over to a sink.

Looking into the mirror, she jumped as she saw not her reflection but that of her brother's. She squeaked but as soon as she blinked, the image of the boy was gone, only hers remaining. She rubbed her eyes with her palms, blinking them and then staring into the mirror again only to get her reflection once more.

Okay, she was just seeing things, no worries. She must've been too stressed out; the shower would definitely help to relax her. Testing the temperature of the spray, though, only told her that it wasn't warm quite yet. She growled and turned away from it in a huff, pacing the community showers about two times before checking the water again.

Ah, that was better. Slipping off the robe she was wearing, she entered the shower stall with her toiletries and pulled the shower curtain closed. Setting her toiletries down, she closed her eyes and let the warm water bathe her, her hands combing into her hair. Yes, this was exactly what she needed.

She bent down and snatched up her shampoo, popping the cap and squirting out a liberal amount. With hair as luxurious as hers, you cut no corners in taking care of it.

The minutes ticked by as she groomed her hair and as she made sure she got the last of the shampoo out of it, she felt a change. There was something different but she couldn't tell what. Her eyes were closed but she could feel as if there was a thick substance against her skin. It was warm, almost hot even, but for some reason it didn't feel like water.

Opening her eyes, they bulged out in horror as she realized she was drenched in blood, the source none other than the shower head. She began to hyperventilate, her breathes of air entering her lungs and exiting them at an accelerated rate.

And finally, unable to take it anymore, the thought of getting out of the stall escaping her mind, she opened her mouth and screamed.


	24. Cooked Kenny

Author's Note: Thus far, that's two against for upping the rating. Still waiting for more feedback on that but as a gift, here's an early update. Also, I'm coming to a close with this story. About two, three chapters need to be written before this whole thing is finished, however, for those that know me, you know I have several chapters already written. So keep on your toes because who will die next? Will it be an OC…or a canon character? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, horror, death

Cooked Kenny

Today was officially a weird day, Kenny mused. First they hit somebody in the street but find no body and only the blood soaked hat that Kyle used to wear. Next, Stan and Lottery Ticket sneak into a house to visit a crime scene and come back with the smell of brimstone.

There had only been two places that he had smelt that smell: the no longer active volcano a few miles away from the town and Hell. He was wagering on the latter here.

That asked the question of why Damien was there. Did he kill the girl or did he arrive after she had died? He didn't know but the mystery as to why the Antichrist had shown back up in South Park was deepening. Heck, the questions that he had once asked Satan about it got evasive answers, leaving him with even more questions!

He had the urge to hit something but living in such a ratty house, doing something like that was liable to make a hole and cause the whole building to cave in, killing him in the process. He hadn't tried it yet but wasn't going to chance it anyway.

So what could he do at this point? Other than hide from the police who were undoubtedly still looking for him, he couldn't think of a single thing.

The front door to the house opened and in came Tori, her friend who was a size C point one coming in with her. He couldn't really recall her name but the name O'Neil kept popping up in his head. Hmm, he couldn't figure it out but a memory of him waking up in the nurse's office with that girl nearby kept popping up in his head.

Wait, there was something about owing money at the time and the girl offered her lunch in lieu of cash. Yeah, a name was coming to him, it was…Robin! No wait, was that suppose to be an "i" or a "y?" Robyn? Robbin?" Rob? Eh, he'd think of it sooner or later.

"Kenny! Where were you!" Tori demanded, her hands placed on her hips, a scowl on her face.

"Had to do something," he shrugged.

"And you had to skip school for to it?" she stated more than asked.

"It was important," he insisted.

"Is that why some cops were walking around, looking for you?" Tori's friend asked.

"Aw shit," he groaned. "I swear, I'm gonna get Lottery Ticket for this."

"Charlie?" Tori asked, blinking her eyes. "What does she have to do with it?"

"Everything," he muttered. "Oh, she so owes me for this."

"For what?"

"Nothing you need to think about," he said as sprawled out on the dingy couch. "Just pretend that I'm talking about a booty call or something."

"Like always? Yeah right," Tori scoffed. "If you want to suffer by yourself, by all means. C'mon Robyn."

He could feel Robyn's eyes on him for a moment more before she followed after his cousin but he was more concerned with what he was going to do to Charlie for getting him into this mess. How long did he have to hide out in his own home and would his parents turn him in for reward money if it came to that?

He suddenly eyed the piss poor excuse for a kitchen, specifically the over, and an idea came to him. Well, there was one way he could hide out without anyone finding him…

* * *

It was about fifteen minutes later that Tori and Robyn began to smell something odd.

"Geez! What is that!" Robyn asked, pinching her nose shut.

"I have no idea," Tori said, "but I'm going to find out."

Back out into the small house's living room, she found it Kennyless so that clued her in that he might had something to do with this smell. Might being the operative word as there was also the possibility that he wasn't to blame. However, the smell was stronger here and even stronger the closer she moved to the kitchen.

It didn't take her long to find herself in front of stove where small tendrils of smoke were leaking out. This only be a problem if the house itself had smoke alarms but Stuart McCormick spent too much money on booze to afford one of those handy devices.

Taking an oven mitt, she pulled open the oven door and backed away quickly as her nose was assaulted and overpowered by the raw smell of cooked flesh and right there in the oven, small bits of flame here and there, was the charred body of her cousin.

Needless to say, he was dead.

"Oh…my…God," Robyn whimpered as she covered her mouth to try and vainly stop any vomit from escaping.

Tori, meanwhile, just stared put out at her cousin's corpse and said, "Kenny…what the hell were you thinking?"

* * *

Mmm, Kenny just loved the smell of fire and brimstone in the evening. Not! Yeah, he pretty much figured he'd be here, what with his spontaneous suicide and all. He figured he might as well spend some time with the big guy here, maybe find a way to get all the heat off him back on Earth.

He noticed it almost immediately, the sudden lack of evil in this infernal place. Had Satan decided to leave or was there something else up? If there was, it had to be big and that worried him.

After spending some time wandering around Hell since this place had the tendency to change every time he came here and never in the same design either, he stumbled upon Satan's throne room by accident.

He blinked owlishly at how empty and depressed it was; he could see Satan in his throne directly across from him and he could see that the big lug looked as if he had lost another boyfriend. Okay, it was official, something was up and he wanted to find out what exactly it was.

So, as brazenly as a mortal with a tendency to come back to life frequently could, he strolled through the throne room, straight to where the Prince of Darkness rested, seemingly lifeless though he was heaving.

It was when he was close enough that he managed to make out what sounded like sobs. Was…was he crying? It wasn't the first time he had seen the demonic being cry before and he supposed that it wouldn't be the last he would comfort the being. Last time it had been because he had been in the middle of a reprieve from the company of his then current boyfriend, Saddam Hussein, while in the midst of planning a takeover of the Earth.

Yeah, it sounded what a girl or a pussy guy would do. What, would you try and call the Lord of Darkness a pussy to his face? Well, God would but he was God for crying out loud! And also a Buddhist but that was neither here nor there.

"Hey guy?" he greeted. "What's wrong?"

Satan sniffed and rubbed a finger under his nose, as if trying to wipe away snot. His eyes opened and Kenny was taken aback by how bleary and watery they were. Wow, this had to be big.

"Oh. It's you," Satan said dully.

Kenny frowned. Hey, this didn't sound like the Satan he knew. That guy usually had some kind of emotion in his voice, be it evil, misery, or the occasional maternal display of compassion. This was a complete absence of any kind of emotion. No anger, no cheer, nothing.

"Okay, what's up," he asked again, taking his hood off so that he could not be misunderstood. "It's gotta be big if it's got you this down. C'mon, you can tell me."

"This isn't a good time for this," Satan spoke, sounding exhausted. "Come back later, in another century or two."

"What?" he deadpanned.

Satan only sighed, slipping deeper into depression. However, he muttered something under his breath and if the blond strained his ears enough, he managed to pick up a few words.

"Didn't…up…made…favorite too…"

Didn't up? Made favorite too? Hmm, was that favorite like a dish or meal? If so that mean whoever it was Satan was talking about didn't _show_ up. Somehow, he wasn't surprised by this.

But who could get Satan this bent out of shape over a missed meal? It wasn't like this was the McCormick family where they barely had anything to have a meal and if you missed a meal it just meant more for everyone else. Was it someone close to him?

"Is it Damien?" he finally asked.

As if that was a catalyst, all of Hell went to, well, Hell. What had once been a dark and depressed room flashed into something similar to that of a volcano, lava streaming all over the floor and fires erupting at random spots. Hell lit up brilliantly but just as quickly as it had, it's sudden flare dissipated and Satan sat in his throne even more dejected.

"Oh, I can't even _feel_ him anymore!" Satan cried out dejectedly.

"Why don't you go and get him?" he asked.

"I can't," Satan sighed. "If I showed up on Earth unannounced, that asshole Michael and all of Heaven will invade and demand to know what I'm doing. I have to send a representative up there to announce I'm going to come or there's some prophesy coming true or some shit before I can go and Damien…was the only reasonable representative I had. He was the only one who could make a grand impression before declaring my coming. Anything less would, well, be lame."

You have got to be kidding…

"Besides that, what else is keeping you here?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I feel as if I'm not needed," the red guy confessed. "If Damien needed me, he would have called but he hasn't. I want to go but politics is keeping me here."

Okay, so Satan didn't know where his son was or what he was doing. Well, that wasn't good, especially since Damien read into his own press a lot. So there was a Satanic psychopath on the loose somewhere and his father couldn't do anything to rein him in.

This was gonna suck…

* * *

Another day, another person dying, another time where people didn't give a shit, yeah that was a typical day in South Park. No one was really concerned about Kenny McCormick's suicide as everyone knew he would be back in a few hours, no worse for wear.

Even Michael, as quietly compassionate as he was, only shrugged his shoulders and went about the rest of his day as if nothing had happened. The apathy was not noticed by the boy who paid attention to everything.

He usually tried not to think about anything involving death, especially since anytime he thought about it, his thoughts would lead him back to memories that he didn't want to think about. Specifically, they were about the car crash that left himself and his little sister motherless and the emotional wounds from it had yet to heal.

Oh damn it, he was thinking about it again.

Then again, hardly a day passed when he didn't think about it; it was a wonder he wasn't clinically depressed yet.

For Michael, the school day always passed swiftly so he was trudging back towards home in no time, a backpack full of homework and already looking forward to seeing his little sister again. She was a few years younger than he was and definitely the more social of the two. He wanted to be able to protect her but found such a task difficult as she was a natural globetrotter, unable to remain in a place for too long.

Let him tell you, there had been many a night where he had sat up awake, waiting for her to come home only to end up with no sleep and repeating the process again.

He didn't hold it against her, this was her way of coping with the death of their mom. They had both been in the car when they were hit by that drunk driver and the worst they had gotten were broken bones and one mild concussion. Their mother fared worse, dying upon impact. Currently, they were in an aunt's house and she wasn't really the kind of person that should have kids. It wasn't that she was abusive, she just forgot that she had children living with her, thus forcing them to fend for themselves half the time.

It wasn't a surprise when he unlocked the front door and found the house empty; their aunt was probably at that Indian casino again, trying to score big. Well, whatever, he didn't feel like doing any house cleaning today and felt quite lazy, not even wanting to do his homework either.

Luckily, these bouts of lethargy had a cure, an unusual one but one that worked wonders for him.

It was simple; take a shower.

He'd clean himself off and feel like a million bucks, ready to take on the world or at least the dust bunnies that hid under the couch. Damn it, he would get those Goddamned things if it killed him!

So, dumping his backpack in his room, he headed to the bathroom, flicking on the lights while simultaneously undoing his clothes. Turning on the bathtub faucet, he adjusted the temperature to between hot and scalding, the way he liked it, and finished off stripping himself. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and took a moment to study himself. He was a thin thing, really, and he had always been a bit self-conscious of his body. Everyone else his age was growing both in length and width, the width being muscle mainly, but he remained a twig.

An awkward twig that no one took notice of.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the bathtub, checking the gushing water's temperature and then pulling up the plunger on the faucet that redirected the flow of water to the showerhead above. Getting in, he pulled the shower curtain closed behind him and let the spray drench him, water trailing down all over his body and back into the tub, flowing towards the drain.

A shampoo and a scrubbing later, he allowed himself to enjoy the sensations of water spraying onto him, letting himself relax if only for a short time. This was his personal heaven, his mana if you will. He could stay in here like this forever, he felt, never coming out or having to deal with the real world.

Just him right here in the present without a care in the world.

Suddenly, the curtain was torn away and a hand had him by his neck, shoving him back into the tiled wall harshly. He gripped on the arm, his eyelids shut so as to protect his eyes from the water running over them, and he tried to struggle only to freeze as he felt a something sharp and pointed scrap against his bare skin, producing a shudder to race down his spine.

He cracked his eyes open just enough to catch a mass of black in front of him and as he further opened them, began to make out a person.

"Preparing to go to bed so soon?" a velvety voice inquired. "An interesting way to get out of doing homework, I must say, but what about dinner? You haven't eaten yet have you?"

By now he knew who this person was who had violated the sanctity of his bathroom and his happy place. He could only wonder what the hell Bain Cynis was doing in his house.

"Shh, shh," the teen hushed. "No need to say a word, my boy. You see, you are about to become a part of something, something bigger than you can imagine." Bain's hand squeezed his throat, preventing him from saying anything. "Now, I know what you're thinking, why me? Well, the answer is simple: if I gut you right here and now, no one is going to miss you. No one is going to wonder: hey, whatever happened to that quiet kid with the stutter?

"Yes, I know it's sad but it's the truth about South Park. No one cares who dies in this town anymore. Then again, that's what makes you the perfect victim in the perfect town. No one would ever think to link me to this."

Bain smirked evilly at him; despite this, Michael didn't feel scared. If anything, it was more like relief yet he couldn't explain why he would feel that way. Was it because he was tired of living? Sick of being a nobody who nobody paid any attention to and was neglected by his entire family despite doing his best for them?

He didn't know yet found himself not caring that he didn't know.

It was as if this was just one last thing to worry about.

"Give my regards to Katelyn Blaire," Bain said to him. "You're about to join her along with Kyle Broflovski and all the other bitches that have fallen into my web."

Pain soon exploded in his body but was overcome by apathy of all things. He didn't care as his life poured out of his veins, didn't care that he was losing consciousness.

Oblivion never felt better.

* * *

"Well that was underwhelming," Damien commented. "Why was he on your list anyway?"

"Cannon fodder," Bain shrugged as he held his knife under the spray of the water, clearing the blood off of it. "Besides, he always seemed to have this 'woe is me' feel about him and it just pissed me off." He pulled the shower curtain closed and then said, "Dry me off."

Damien rolled his eyes but the irises nevertheless began to glow. Bain was surrounded by heat, his wet clothes drying quickly until it was as if not a drop of water had touched them. With a gesture, Bain told him to stop and unable to disobey, the Antichrist did so. Great, all the demonic powers you could wish for and he was using them to be someone's personal blow dryer.

How the mighty had fallen…

Glancing back to the concealed body, he asked, "What do you want to do with that?"

"Nothing," Bain said. "Any evidence I may have left on the body will be destroyed by the running water. Heh, I always wanted to do something like that. Another thing off the 'to do' list."

"You really are one twisted mortal," Damien stated as he followed after the maniac.

Bain merely smirked in reply.


	25. Eliminating the Competition

Author's Note: This is the second draft of this chapter and you can all thank ShadowMajin for it. Also, another character whom SM has lended his assistence with and it's with one created by DefectCriminal. Can ya'll take a wild guess who it is? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, horror, death

Eliminating the Competition

Just as he had suspected, no one had raised much fuss over his latest victim. It was just a "oh no, not another one!" and everything went back to normal. No one had even bothered to raise the question of whether or not the recent deaths had any connection with each other.

Bain smirked as he once again got away with murder.

Oh, the thrill of the hunt and the thrill of the kill, he couldn't get enough of them. Plus, Damien was proving himself to be a rather useful tool in his campaign. But he knew he couldn't continue at this slow pace. If he wanted to inspire terror in this town, he was going to have to step it up a notch, make his crimes look more and more like homicides.

He was staring into one of his notebooks, the diagram of his crime spree spelled out all over it and he contemplated. Who was he to strike at next? Who's death would be statement enough to put him on everyone's collective radar and yet not clue anyone to the fact it was him? With Damien at his disposal, he didn't have to worry about getting caught but he wanted the sensation of being hunted while hunting.

To be able to kill and then boast about his superiority, just like serial killers of the past decades had done, that was what he wanted. Writing notes to the police seemed too cliché, and he didn't want to copy geniuses like the Zodiac.

He glanced over to his bookcase where all his books were held and particularly focused on the bottom shelf. There sat his miniscule collection of DVDs and he didn't have to get up close to know what their titles were. One of them caught his eye, the movie known as Se7en. A fantasy popped up in his head and his eyes gleamed at the potential in it. Oh yes, that was certainly a possibility, more capable now that he had Damien at his beck and call.

The victim he was thinking about, yes, he was almost perfect! It would be a case of who didn't kill them rather than who did. That, and he could really be creative this time around.

He flipped to a blank page in the notebook, a feat in and of itself since he usually filled up all his notebooks before going to another one, and began scrawling down ideas as well as a diagram for illustration. Yes…yes…no, no not that but maybe this…oh, this was really becoming wicked, so incredibly wicked!

"Vincent Price, eat your heart out," he said aloud before emitting a cackle.

* * *

It seemed a bit ironic that Damien was using the Cynis' shower to clean up, especially since recently he had just watched someone get killed in one. It wasn't that he felt dirty or anything, it was just that he wanted to get away with Bain. There was something about that mortal, something that made him feel dirty all over and for no reason.

Well, maybe not for no reason but it was just the fact he didn't want to really get thinking about it.

Now, he was all for sinning and doing evil but he liked doing it because he wanted to, not because he was being told to. It was that whole free will thing. Yet here he was a slave and standing in a shower where the water was barely touching him due to the fact that his natural body heat was so hot that it evaporated the liquid before it could reach his skin. So yeah, there was more steam than water in here.

As long as that mortal held that conch shell where his freedom was held, he had no choice but to be pushed and ordered around. He despised that, really. He wasn't meant to serve the whims of an immature mortal! He was destined to bring about the end of the world, jumpstart the Judgment of every single soul on this planet!

Things were going wrong in a bad way and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Shutting off the water, his skin hardly damp at all, he pulled open the shower curtain only to pull it back into place as he saw he wasn't in the bathroom alone. Sitting on the toilet with his pants down was a middle aged man with mousy brown hair and a pair of spectacles placed on his nose, his eyes trained on a magazine.

He had never seen this person before and he knew he would have had he seen such a heavy set looking person. It wasn't that he looked brutish, just that his body was large and broad yet the person's presence was small and easily overlooked.

Without warning, the man's brown eyes, obscured by his glasses, glanced up at him then returned to his magazine as if not really impressed by what he saw. "You're Bain's friend, yes?" he asked.

Damien blinked, wondering who this mortal was as well as why he himself was hiding behind a shower curtain. It made no sense, especially since this mortal didn't seem that invasive or threatening. Yet he found himself answering, "Yes sir."

Oi.

The man nodded and continued reading his magazine without a further word. Damien blinked at him and asked the one question that was bugging. "Um, who are you?"

The mortal didn't even look up. "Bain's father, James Cynis. We've met."

Damien frowned. "I would think I would remember seeing you before."

"I'm invisible," James shrugged. "Not surprising. I opened the door for you the other day when you came to ask for Bain."

"But…I only saw your spouse!"

"I was standing right next to her."

Damien opened his mouth to refute that except that his memory decided to conspire against him. The memory of him at the Cynis' front door popped up in his head and he could clearly see Bain's mother in the doorway. However, if he were to pan to a side that memory, James was suddenly in the picture standing right next to his wife, looking down at him disinterestedly.

…how the hell did he do that?

The next thing he knew, the toilet was flushing and James Cynis was exiting the bathroom, his magazine tucked under his arm. Okay, that was just creepy there; had he zoned out or was that mortal so invisible that he didn't pick up on his soul radar?

But more importantly, how did a guy like that pick up a wife like Sybil Cynis?

He shook his head and donned on his usual black outfit and trekked back to Bain's room where the mortal seemed hard at work writing something down.

"You seem motivated," he said dryly.

Bain only replied, "We're stepping things up. Tomorrow morning, we're paying the next victim a visit. I'm hitting for the fence this time around so rest up. We just might need all the power you have for what I have planned."

Damien scoffed but said nothing. Did that mortal really think that highly of himself? His powers were greater than he could comprehend; the next chance he got, he would show him just what he could do, starting by dragging him body and soul into the deepest pits of Hell!

* * *

Stan jolted back into consciousness then groaned as his sleep-addled mind tried to coax him back to sleep. Don't think he didn't want to but a loud tap on his window brought him back from a half-wakefulness and he groaned again.

What. The. Hell.

Whoever it was that was throwing rocks at his window was begging to get killed. He wouldn't care if he got arrested for it, it would be worth it!

He got out of his warm cocoon of blankets and headed to the window, opening it up so that he could stick his head out of it only to have a small rock hit him on his forehead, thus causing him to jerk up and hit his head against the window.

He pulled back in and clutched at his throbbing head, swearing to murder who it was out there. Cautiously, he peeked out through his window and saw Kenny down there, standing in the snow and scratching the back of his hooded head in embarrassment. He glared at the blond but held up a finger, telling the blond that he would be right down and shut the window.

Grabbing his jacket, he tromped down the stair and to the patio door where Kenny was waiting for him, the blond scuffing his shoe against the wooden patio. Opening the sliding glass door, he glared at Kenny who took a hesitant step back, glancing at him nervously. Huh, he must be getting better at being intimidating.

"Kenny," he grunted, "you have five seconds to talk and then I'm going to kill you."

"Hey man, relax," Kenny said, trying to soothe him. "I didn't mean to hit you, I just needed to talk to you."

"Kenny, I was asleep and I do not appreciate that you woke me up just to talk," he growled.

"Look, just hear me out," Kenny cut in. "I just got back from Hell and something's going on man."

Stan paused and cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, let me guess. The Devil's planning to come back up to Earth, in South Park no less, and there's going to be a huge war that's going to destroy the world and we're the only ones who can do anything to stop it. Am I right?"

"For once, you're wrong," Kenny corrected. "No, it's Satan's son, Damien. He's missing."

"Didn't you tell me the other day you saw him up here?" he asked.

"Yeah, but that was when Satan was keeping track of him," Kenny explained. "Recently, something's happened and Damien's off his parental radar. He could be anywhere!"

"So are you saying we need to find him before all hell breaks loose," Stan stated.

"Well, yeah," the blond confirmed. "Not only that, Satan's depressed, I mean really depressed."

"And what's that got to do with anything?"

"Well, he's gone off and closed the Gates to Hell," Kenny shrugged. "Now no one can get in or out anymore. That's why it took me so long to come back this time around."

Stan merely stared at the boy before summing it all up in two words.

"Well, fuck."

* * *

"Look at it," Bain said, gesturing to a house. "It looks so ordinary yet you would never suspect the rotting piece of shit that lives in there, a parasite preying off of everyone just to satisfy his own endless wants and needs."

"This is Eric Cartman's house," Damien stated blandly. "What's your point?"

Bain glanced at his servant and snorted. "And you're suppose to be the Antichrist? Where's your vision?"

Damien glared at him but Bain paid him no further mind, taking the lead and heading towards the Cartman abode. He ordered the Antichrist to follow with a wordless gesture, knowing that the other had to obey, especially since he was gripping the black conch shell tightly in his hand.

Standing in front of the front door, he said in jest, "Open Sesame," giving Damien a pointed look.

Damien rolled his eyes but snapped his fingers, the locks on the door clicking and allowing the two entry into the house. Bain's eyes trailed over everything in sight in the living room, his nose wrinkling in disgust at it. He knew Damien wouldn't be able to see what he saw but he didn't care.

Right there, a picture of that fatass smiling like an innocent little boy in his mother's arms. Ha. Innocent, right, and he was Abraham Lincoln.

Glancing at Damien, he ordered, "Get everything set up down here. I'll check to see if our hosts are here."

Damien grumbled but nevertheless did as he was told while Bain himself crept up the stairs, careful not to give away his presence from a squeaky floorboard. Sure the inhabitants of the house would suspect one another for wandering the house but he didn't want them semi-awake.

He wanted the full, unbridled element of surprise.

It was a random guess of trial and error and it took him a couple tries to find Cartman's room, coming across a closet and Ms. Cartman's room before his prey's. Quietly entering the fat teen's room, his eyes gleamed as he took in the unconscious form that was completely unaware of him.

Yes, oh yes. He felt himself salivating in anticipation at what he was about to bestow on this fat tub of lard. The torment, the torture that he had in store, it was almost enough to arouse him but he kept an iron tight hold on his physiology. He didn't need to do anything embarrassing quite yet.

Applying pressure to the conch shell in his hand, he summoned Damien to his side and sent a glance at the devil's spawn, nonverbally asking if all was ready.

A nod to confirm and all was set.

Cartman's room melted away, the house's kitchen replacing it in its stead. Instead of laying on a bed, Cartman was now situated in a demonic chair, his hands cuffed and restrained to the chair's arm.

"Syringe, please," Bain asked, holding his hand out. Damien rolled his eyes but handed to the mortal an oversized shot filled completely with a red substance. "Other syringe," Bain instructed, "be sure to be on the other side."

"I know, I know," Damien muttered as he did as he was told, summoning an identical shot that was empty with its stopper all the way in.

"On my count, penetrate," Bain said, holding his oversized syringe so that the needle was hovering just over the upper arm of the fat boy. "One…two…three."

Simultaneously, the two pierced through the flabby skin. Bain looked at Damien then nodded, signaling the other the pull while he pushed. As soon as Damien began pulling on his stopper, red liquid traveled up through the needed and into the syringe. Meanwhile, Bain pressed on his, injecting his substance into Cartman.

It was over in a matter of moments.

"That was a chore, wasn't it?" Bain jested as he tossed his comically large syringe away. "Now, let's get to the good part."

With an indulgent smirk on his face, Bain approached Cartman and raised a hand up, whipping it against a chubby cheek in a backhand. When one slap didn't wake the teen up, Bain continued raining backhand after backhand until Cartman startled into consciousness, his eyes opening blearily.

"What the fuck…?" he groaned before taking in just where he was. "Ey…what the hell?"

"Indeed," Bain said, capturing the other's attention. "Awake yet Sleeping Beauty?"

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?" Cartman snarled, struggling against his restrains, just beginning to figure out what was going on. "What the fuck is going on here?"

Bain took a seat at the table that was situated in front of Cartman and crossed his legs. "You're just about to become the test subject in an experiment of sorts."

"An experiment?" Cartman repeated. "But why me? Why not get some Jew?"

"But you are Jewish," Bain said innocently.

"Eh—what?" Cartman paused, blinking dumbly.

"Well, actually it's because I just don't like you," Bain shrugged. "So yes, this is personal. That and you'd be the second Jew I've killed."

As Cartman was about to speak, his face turning red in anger, Bain made a slicing gesture over his throat to Damien who only nodded. Thus, when Cartman tried to use his voice, no sound came out, as if he had been stricken mute. The fatboy immediately noticed that something was wrong but no matter how hard he struggled, he could not say anything.

"That's much better," Bain said, getting off from his seat on the table. "You know that you have an annoying voice? It's like listening to a remix of nails on a chalkboard. You must really be in love with yourself to stand it at all hours of the day." Taking the fatboy's head, he forced it to turn until he was sure Damien was in his line of sight. "Now, if you look here, you'll see my assistant, Damien. His main job, other than ensuring that no one interrupts this, is to provide all supernatural help that I'll need.

"Now, if you'll look back at me, I'll explain just what will be happening in the next few minutes," he continued, forcing Cartman's head back. "A few minutes ago, we just finished a transfusion. You see over there," he gestured to Damien's syringe, "is your blood. Now, I know what you're thinking. If that's all my blood, how am I still alive? Well, right now you have ten liters of Jewish blood flowing through your veins.

"Now this is where the experiment comes in. It's a social one so please, listen closely to what I'm about to tell you. I had about seven choices of what I could do to you, one of which was obvious, one that wouldn't put a dent in your flabby hide, one that would take too long, another that I couldn't put together at a moment's notice, and two last ones that are lame. Pride is a big sin of yours, you know? So back to your choice.

"It's simple really, you can choose whether or not you live. If you choose life, you will have to spend the rest of it living as a Jew, especially since this is some supernatural blood that will force you to live, dine, and act like a stereotypical Jew. The other choice is you climbing onto that cross over there," he gestured to a large wooden cross a few feet away, "and letting yourself bleed out until you are dry." He snapped his fingers and Damien's eyes glowed.

Cartman felt something change and he groaned, and soon realized that he had power over his vocal cords again. "You sons of bitches, what the hell did you do to me?"

"I believe this is redundant but I'll say it again, you have had all the blood in your body replaced with Jewish blood. As of now you are a Jew, a member of the people of Israel, yadda, yadda, yadda. You want to live, you'll live the rest of your life as a Jew or you can die by crucifying yourself. It's simple. If you can't comprehend this, then be ready to eat kosher for the rest of your life."

"You…you mean I'm a Jew right now?" Cartman asked, paling.

"Now you're getting it!" Bain cheered. "So what will it be?"

"I'm going to be a Jew…forever," Cartman said to himself, dazed.

"Yes, but you can end it right now, if you choose to," Bain told him. "What'll it be?"

Cartman remained silent for a moment, as if contemplating before looking up at Bain almost desperately and said, "You have those nails ready?"

* * *

The sun was barely making it over the horizon and Kenny and Stan found themselves out in the early morning cold, their breath coming out as puffs of smoke as they made their way to Cartman's house. Kenny looked as if he was going to take on the world, his body pumped and moving quickly. Slightly behind him and to a side was a more exhausted looking Stan who's grumpiness was the only thing keeping him on his feet. You could see bags under his eyes that would every now and then throw a glare at the hooded blond in front of him.

Kenny found that he could have cared less.

These things always followed a formula, as Kyle had once pointed out, and instead of letting it run its course, he thought to head it off before they started seeing the dead walking the Earth.

That was why he was hurrying off with Stan to Cartman's. He was always involved with this shit when they were and since Kyle wasn't here, he'd have to round out their group for now. Plus, he did come up with some interesting ideas every now and then. Sometimes they even worked!

It was time, though, to put their own unique talents together once more to figure out what the missing Damien was doing and send him back to Hell. They had to deal with harder things in the past, like when Tom Cruise and a bunch of other celebrities tried to sue the town into the ground and the time they had queefs made illegal. You know, serious things.

Cartman's house was in sight and he quickened his pace, not caring that he took Stan off guard and he had to run after him. However, just as he was about to set foot on Cartman's property, he ran into something, something he couldn't see yet was solid like a wall. Before he could think on it, Stan came running into him, smashing him into the invisible wall once again.

"Oww," he groaned as he slid down onto knees, Stan managing to remain on his feet. Must be from all those sports he did.

"I think we found where Damien is," Stan said wryly.

* * *

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ this hurts!" Cartman whined.

"That's the point, it was originally a torture device," Bain said casually. "Kind of like the rack, the iron maiden, or an electric chair."

"What had you planned to accomplish with this?" Damien inquired, slightly irritated.

"Irony," Bain mused. "He has become what he hates and like the savior of Christianity, he is paying for his sins. Too bad we both know where he's going to end up anyway."

"It huuuurrrrtttttsssssss," Cartman moaned.

Bain glanced at his crucified victim. "Oh, you are? Sorry to inconvenience you like that. Here, let me help you."

He strolled to Cartman, his eyes never leaving the obese boy, pulling out Winslow, the blade gleaming. In a quick, swift motion, he plunged the knife into Cartman's chest. Then cruelly, he pulled down on the knife, cutting a large gash into him, blood spilling out in a flood. Soon, something more solid began to spill out and Bain moved away to avoid getting any of it on him.

Cartman groaned as soon began to lose weight at long last.

"Jesus of Nazarath, you've met your match," Bain crowed. "Too bad we don't have any Romans here or it'd be almost identical."

"You clearly haven't read in the New Testament in a while," Damien stated.

"Yes, yes, whatever, it doesn't really matter anymore," Bain said dismissively. "All that matters is that the only person that can think like me is out of the picture, but just to be sure, we'll wait a couple minutes before we leave."

"And what about the two outside?" Damien questioned.

"As long as you keep that shield is up, what does it matter?" Bain shrugged. "And don't you dare take it down until we're long gone, got it?"

"Yes, yes," Damien rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, the two boys heard a loud farting sound and when they looked over at Cartman, they were both repulsed as a spew of crap spilled forth from Cartman's body, covering the base of the cross and the floor beneath it.

"Damn, that is retched!" Damien gagged as he covered his nose. "Did you really have to do this inside?"

* * *

The two boys had no idea how long they had been standing in front of Cartman's house, trying to get past that invisible wall and not succeeding. That wall was an unyielding bitch, that was for sure.

After some time had passed, they had company in the form of Craig Tucker, the asshole driving up in his rusty pickup but slowing down to get a good look at what they were up to. When asked to lend a hand, he had swiftly replied, "No thank you. I rather not get involved in your weird shit again and end up in Peru. That's the reason why nobody likes hanging out with you guys."

The two boys are stared at Craig before Stan said, "Why do you have to be so negative Craig?"

"It's in my job description," had shrugged and drove off, leaving the two in a cloud of black smoke that his truck had coughed up.

Fortunately, Kenny didn't die from smoke inhalation this time though he did cough like hell.

"Christ," he coughed before asking Stan, "Can't you make a gay, little song to get people to buy hybrids again?"

"EPA confiscated my guitar," Stan replied. "They said they wanted to keep smug levels down at a safe level."

"Weak," he said, placing a hand on the invisible wall that was suddenly not there anymore. He lost his balance but managed to regain in quickly enough, throwing a look that Stan understood automatically.

They raced across the snow covered yard, this time stopped by the locked front door and began banging on it just as they heard a blood-curdling scream from inside. They banged on the door, rapidly pressed the doorbell, hoping that whoever was screaming would open the door and let them in.

The scream continued, drawing close to the door and masked the sound of it being unlocked but stopped the second the door opened to reveal a prim and proper Ms. Cartman who didn't have a single hair out of place.

"Oh, hello boys," the homely woman greeted. "Now's not a good time…"

"We heard screaming, what's happening?" Kenny demanded, making sure he had a foot in the doorway in case Ms. Cartman tried to close the door in their faces.

Cartman's mother looked a bit uneasy but then opened the door wider, silently inviting them to come in. "It's Eric," she said, "there's something…wrong."

"What isn't wrong with him?" Stan asked as he followed her into the kitchen. There they found Cartman hanging from a cross, his blood and guts making a mess of the floor and walls and a brown substance directly beneath him.

"But he's not moving…" Cartman's mother whimpered. "I think he might be sick."

Kenny stared at the fatass' body before hurrying over to check for a pulse. "Uh, Stan, you might want to call 911. I can't feel anything!" Kenny's voice was rising with panic with every word that he spoke, Stan picking up on it.

"Oh God," Stan moaned as he hurried over to the phone.

As he called for an ambulance, Kenny asked, "Weren't you down here? Why didn't you stop him from getting like this?"

"I'm sorry, but I was busy being attacked, molested, and violated by a group of tentacles," Cartman's mother answered, sobbing. "It just felt so good and when they tried to run away from me, I had to chase after them. It's like they never handled a real woman before…"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture," Kenny said quickly, not wanting those mental images in his head right now. Knowing his luck, he'd get a nosebleed and die.


	26. The Specialist

Author's Note: What would be a South Park story without the obligatory guest appearance of a Hollywood celebrity? Like in the canon disclaimer, any celebrity interpretations you see in here are done…poorly. Also, from here on in, ShadowMajin will have some responsibility for some of the jokes that were made and this includes future chapters. Just want to get that out of the way now so that I don't have to keep repeating it in future author's notes. That and I hope the quality of this chapter outweighs the quantity. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

The Specialist

Something needed to be done. Mayor McDaniels knew this better than anyone, especially since doing nothing would hurt whatever chances she had of finally getting out of this Godforsaken town and becoming a real politician.

That was why she had sent out the call for a specialist. Three deaths in less than a week and a serial killer at large who may or may not be responsible for them, if that didn't sat do something, she didn't know what did.

That, and she was tired of the town's stupid citizens barging into her office, rabbling.

It stopped being cute after the first time.

Back to the matter at hand, she had called in Harrison Yates and Mitch Murphy to inform them of the current developments, as well as her call for a specialist. The two hadn't like that and had argued that they didn't need outsider help until she told them the identity of just who this specialist was.

After that, they had both shut up and stiffly agreed before leaving.

Right now, though, she had gotten her call answered and much sooner than she had through. Already the specialist had said they were on the case and coming to the town, arriving within the day.

If he was able to succeed, then it would look favorably on her.

* * *

Stan squinted his eyes as a blinding light glared at him. This wasn't the first time he had been in an interrogation room so he wasn't too concerned about not being able to see much.

"Alright, you're Stan Marsh, correct?" a detective with red hair and a moustache asked, sitting across from him and looking into a vanilla folder. Stan rolled his eyes, knowing just who Yates was.

This wasn't the first time he had run into him.

But really, was this all necessary?

"Dude, I already told you who I am," he said tiredly.

"Huh, so you want to get straight to the point, huh?" Yates stated. "Well, here's the point, where were you on the night of May the fourth?"

"Uhh, home, asleep?" he answered, slightly confused.

"Yeah, I bet you were," Yates growled. "Or maybe you weren't asleep and busy killing that boy, Kyle Broflovski!"

"What?" he yelped.

"We got you Marsh," Yates said. "Oh yeah, we have your DNA at the scene of the crime! Kinda stupid leaving your vomit where anyone could see it."

Oh Jesus, not this shit.

"No, you got it wrong," he insisted. "I was sneaking to take a look at where Kyle's skull was found and I vomited."

"A likely story," Yates sneered. "But how do you know that skull belonged to the Broflovski kid, huh?"

"I was there when you told Kyle's mom that it was his skull," he deadpanned.

"Oh really, well I was there and I would have remembered if you were there or not you liar!" Yates snarled.

There was a knock at the door and Yates whipped his head around to glare at it, his nostrils flaring. Grumbling, he got up and opened the door, speaking in a hushed voice to whoever it was on the other side. A moment later, Yates trudged back to the table.

"All right, so you were there," he said, looking back through the folder.

"Yeah, that's what I just said," he said, tempted to say it slowly but not wanting to antagonize the loose cannon officer.

"Well, then explain what your vomit was doing at the crime scene," Yates demanded.

"Are you serious? I just told you I snuck over there to see where Kyle's skull was found," he said slowly, unable to resist anymore.

"Uh huh, uh huh," Yates grunted. "How about what you were doing at the Cartman house, hm?"

"I was the one to call 911," he stated. "Why would I have anything to hide if I did that?"

"You wouldn't be the first criminal to call 911 and try to pass yourself off as a loving spouse," Yates stated. "I've seen it all before, scumbag, so don't think any of those 'I'm a compassionate person' is going to work on me."

"Jesus Christ," Stan moaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It looked like it was just going to get worse before it got better.

There was another knock on the door and just as before Yates answered it disgruntled. Stan ignored it, trying to think of some kind of way to get out of this one. Damn it, what would Brian Boitano do?

An image of the skater slicing everyone's throats with his skates popped up in his mind and he violently shook his head to get rid of the thought.

That wouldn't get him far.

"Alright Marsh, you can go," Yates grumbled to him. "We're taking a risk in you not fleeing or doing some stupid shit like that. Go on, get out of here."

Stan frowned; this didn't seem or even sound right.

"Wait, you have my vomit, my DNA at the crime scene and you're letting me go?"

"Oh, is there something you'd like to confess?" Yates asked accusingly.

"I don't have anything to confess because I have nothing to confess," he shot back. "Now why are you throwing me out?"

Yates sighed. "Turns out there's a lot more DNA all over the scene. We haven't been real good at securing it, it seems."

Stan so badly wanted to say something to that but managed to keep it in, not wanting to piss the guy off even more. This guy arrested people left and right before; it wouldn't take much to have him calling his parents and asking for bail money.

So all he said was, "Oh," and walked out of the interrogation room, Yates' eyes not leaving him for a second.

Entering the lobby of the police station, he stopped as he met up with another dark haired, blue eyed individual. He blinked, staring at the guy as the name "Day" popped up in his mind. Glancing around the guy, he saw one of the few girls whose name he did remember if only for the quantity of jokes that can be made with it.

Her name was Lucky, right?

"Hey Stan," the girl sighed. "Looks like it's Vergil's turn. I told him not to go but no, he didn't listen to me."

"Shut up," Vergil grumbled, "or I'll make you _unlucky_."

"Fuck off, asshole," Lucky snapped seething.

"If we weren't surrounded by cops, I'd like to see you do something," Vergil taunted.

"Okay, I'm outta here," Stan muttered as he slipped away, though not unnoticed by the Days.

"Later Stan!" both chirped at him, beaming at him before engaging each other again in their verbal volleys.

"Ugh," Stan moaned. "This day can't get any worse."

* * *

He was wrong. Things could get worse.

As soon as he had gotten back home, he found out that both his parents were waiting for him, both of them giving him disapproving looks.

"Oh, hey," he said glumly.

"Hey?" his father repeated. "You get dragged down to the police station and all you have to say for yourself is hey?"

Oh Jesus tap-dancing Christ…

"Stan, do you have any idea of what kind of trouble you are in?" his mother picked up, cutting his father off before he could go any further. "This isn't something like the time you burned the school down. This is worse, much worse."

"How much worse?" he asked.

"Stan, there's a chance they'll pin you as a serial killer," she stated. "You'll go to jail, probably get the death penalty! They'll kill you Stan and there won't be a damn thing we can do to stop it."

"Does Colorado even have the death penalty?" he asked out loud.

"I asked that same question and yes, it does," Sharon answered. "Stan, what the hell were you thinking when you went out there!"

"I was just…" Stan began but was suddenly cut off.

"Stan! How could you do this to us!" Randy howled. "We provide you a roof over your head, three meals a day, and you go out and kill people? Oh Stan, Stanly! Oh God, why me?"

"Randy…go get something to drink," Sharon sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Why? Why?" Randy continued to cry out, as he left to go to the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, his mother looked at him expectantly, still expecting an explanation.

"I just wanted to find a clue to who killed Kyle," he answered. "I thought there might have been something that had been missed…"

"If there was, the police probably has it already," his mother told him. "The only reason they have Barbrady out there is to keep him out of the way. I don't want to do this but I'm going to have to ground you Stan until they find someone," she sighed. "You are not allowed out of the house until then, do you understand?"

"But…Mom!" he protested.

His father came back into the living room, loading a shotgun. "Alright Stan, tell me where you would like it. Headshot or in the chest? I'll try to make it as painless as possible."

"Randy!" Sharon cried out.

* * *

"_Welcome back to Channel 4 Evening News."_

"_With three deaths occurring in the past week, the town of South Park is undergoing a lock down. People are staying in their houses, children are being grounded, and the police are calling out for help with their serial killer investigation. Responding to the request from the town's mayor, Edward Norton has agreed to lend his assistant. Wait, who's that guy following Nr. Norton around? He's just wearing a robe and looking creepy. Oh well, whatever._

_In other news, the immortal John Elway is considering in ending his retirement to rejoin the Denver Broncos. The people of the state of Colorado praise him for his commitment to the team and pray that this isn't another cock tease. This reporter would just like to say: BRONCOS SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONS 2011! YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST, FOLKS!"_

_

* * *

_

Mayor McDaniels and Harrison Yates, accompanied with other town politicians and police officials awaiting the arrival of their one and only savior. One cop held up a cardboard box with the words "Edward Norton" scrawled out in terrible handwriting.

Just through the large glass windows, they could see a jumbo jet pull into a terminal gate. An airport employee opened the gate and a moment later, two people exited it.

There was no one else following them.

"Um," McDaniels bit her lip. "Uh, Mr. Edward Norton?"

"That's me," Edward Norton answered pleasantly. "Wow, it's so clean up here in the Rockies."

"I can't say how much this means to our town," the Mayor said. "We need you expertise to catch the monster in our midst and…aren't there any other people on the plane?"

"Why would there be?" Edward Norton asked. "That's not a plane, that's my summer home. Never leave my New York apartment complex without it. Now, if you really want to be wowed, you need to see my winter home. It's stationary."

Yates wiped a tear from his eye. "God bless America."

"I see," the Mayor trailed off before looking at the man following him. "And who is that man who is following you?"

"Oh, forgive me for being rude. This is my life companion, Ralph Fiennes," he said, introducing the taller, robed man with the impassive expression on his face."

The group of South Park natives just stared, blinking at him. "Who?"

"What do you mean who?" Ralph Fiennes demanded. "Don't you recognize me from such films as _Schindler's List_ or _The English Patient_? I'm Amon Goeth damn it!"

"Ralph, they don't recognize you," Edward Norton told him. "Take it off."

"God damn it," Ralph Fiennes sighed before sliding his hair off and abruptly pulling off his nose.

Then he got a reaction.

"Oh my god! It's He-who-shall-not-be-named!" a random cop cried out. "Oh my god! Oh my god!"

"Christ, damn my natural appearance," you-know-who grumbled.

"Put your hair and nose back on Ralph," Edward Norton said.

As soon as said headpieces were back on, it was like the taller actor was invisible again as everyone's attention was back on Edward Norton.

"So, Mr. Norton, do you think you can help us?" Mayor McDaniels asked, sounding hopeful yet prepared to be disappointed.

"I'll let you know as soon as I get a look at your files," Edward Norton stated, his tone of voice projecting that he was ready to get down to business. "I do believe that my experience with the FBI as well as when I played the role of Will Graham in _Red Dragon_, I just might be able to point you in the right direction to your killer."

* * *

"Wahoo!" "Yeah!" and other such calls were screamed out as the group of police, politicians, and two celebrities exited the airport. Everywhere one looked, you could see people dressed up in navy blue in orange, be it clothes or face paint.

"Wow, these people must really love my movies," Edward Norton commented in his friendly voice. "I think I need to invest in getting a house here. The people are so friendly."

"Yeah, but not enough to even see me," Ralph Fiennes grumbled beside him, not surprisingly being ignored.

"We have a limo ready for you," Mayor McDaniels explained. "I hope it's comfortable enough for you."

Glancing at the long, black car, Edward Norton shrugged. "I hope so; I've seen fancier ones before. Not sure about Ralph, though."

"Assholes," Ralph Fiennes muttered. Once again, he was ignored.

"Well, hopefully what it lacks, it makes up for in other ways," McDaniels said hurriedly. "We'd better be going; it looks like a storm is on its way."

"Yes, lot's of snow and ice," Edward Norton mused aloud as he entered the car.

As the door shut behind him, McDaniels' breathed a sigh of relief. Dealing with celebrities was so exhausting.

As the cars drove off, a shout cried out, "BRONCOS! NUMBER 1!"

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own the likeness of Edward Norton or Ralph Fiennes.


	27. Carl's Warehouse

Author's Note: Updates should be a bit more regular from this point on. We're starting to get to the end of this thing but this chapter ought to cement that for all you guys. As for me, I have school starting up in a couple of weeks but it won't interfere with me writing, especially since I have finished this story. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Carl's Warehouse

Hope was miserable. It hadn't taken long for her to hear about what had happened to Cartman and for the rest of the day, she had been on autopilot. Once she had reached the safety of her room, she had collapsed onto her bed and had cried her heart out.

She didn't know why she was so attracted to Eric but she knew she just was. She had so wanted him to like her, maybe even go out with him on a date. Now it was an impossibility, a might have been that would never have a chance of ever becoming real.

Was this what Kyra was feeling like? Was this how Katie's parents were feeling as well?

She knew, somehow, that this hadn't been an accident or Cartman going on yet another binge. She knew with certainty that this was flat out murder but there wasn't any way she could prove it. She had no physical evidence to prove it, though the police were also treating it like a murder.

It was also obvious that they were dragging their feet about it; everyone knew about Eric Cartman's reputation and the only real reason they would search for a killer was to give them a freaking medal. Even then, they wouldn't look hard.

She knew that Eric was an asshole, she hadn't blinded herself to that. How could she have? It was Eric's most defining trait and you didn't have to be blind to know that. Still, she had been able to overlook all that because there had been times where Eric had been in a vulnerable moment, such as the time when an aunt of his had died. Though he didn't show it, the death had hit him hard, really hard.

She knew this for a fact; it had been her shoulder he had cried on.

But as soon as her tears began to dry up, her sorrow began to harden into resolve, resolve to find out who had killed Eric and bring them justice.

And she knew who she needed to get in touch with to get this things in the works.

* * *

Damien peered through a window, an eyebrow raised at the motorcade that was driving down the street. "Hey, is there some kind of parade happening?"

"What?" Bain said gruffly from the bathroom where he was once again was tormenting his sister from long distance. Coming in, he headed straight towards the Antichrist and took a look as well. "What's this? Is the president in town or something?"

"You think it would behoove you to go out and see what it is?" Damien asked him sarcastically.

Bain glanced at him from the corner of his eye then back at the window. "Perhaps."

Minutes later, the two boys were outside on the sidewalk, heading in the general direction of where they had seen the limo and its entourage go. While his curiosity have been piqued earlier, it has quickly lost its novelty to Damien and now he was bored again, despite the fact that he was doing something.

His eyes slowly glanced over to the pocket where Bain held that seashell, the physical incarnation of his servitude. It wasn't hard for him to feel the souls that were inside of it, the three victims that Bain had claimed thus far. Bain didn't know this, that each person he killed from now on, their souls would go into that shell and for each one taken, Bain's control over him would strengthen.

He had hoped by now he would have figured out a loophole or some other way out of this but it was thus far all in vain.

That and another thought that had been bugging him. Why of all things Bain had demanded his freedom. If the mortal knew he was going to win through such an underhanded manner, why didn't he ask for something more, like his powers? Then there would be no need for this slavery at all. Yes, he would still be pissed but he would still be free.

He was really beginning to feel for those African Americans now…

The oppressive pressure that encompassed him ever since he had fallen to Bain increased exponentially and he stopped in his tracks, finally noticing that his "master" had stopped and was several feet behind him.

"Glad to see your head is out of your ass," Bain said snidely. "We need to turn right, not cross the street."

Damien raised an eyebrow and looked at the direction Bain had indicated. Far down the street, he saw a gathering of people and, surprise surprise, the caravan that included the limo. Bain said nothing as he headed towards the crowd and Damien kept up with him, not wanting to feel that pressure again.

He was really getting tired of this whole thing.

It didn't take long to reach the group of people and it wasn't hard to find a spot to watch and hear the proceedings. It didn't sound like much to the Antichrist so he paid more attention to the sins of every single person there. Bain, though, seemed to be paying more attention and he could see subtle signs that the mortal didn't seem to be liking what was going on.

Searching for what everyone was paying attention to, Damien noticed that the sin thickened around a single person and from what he could tell, the woman looked like an elected official.

Figures that the politician would have the most sin dripping off them.

The woman said a name, the one thing that he did catch. Edward Norton? Wasn't he a movie actor?

"Edward Norton?" Bain repeated. "Aw shit!"

Damien gave the mortal an inquisitive look. "Is something the matter?"

"Normally, I could have cared less," Bain said, looking pissed. "But they bring _him_ in? The guy who was Will Graham? A character that hunted serial killers for a living? Aw hell no!"

"He's an actor, what the hell should you be worried?"

"Hollywood is trying to make things more realistic. That means Norton over there had a crash course in the FBI's Behavioral Unit. He knows procedures and probably has even spoken with John Douglas! This isn't good."

"So what? You're going to lay low for this?"

"No, I'm not slowing down, not now. If Edward Norton wants to hunt me, fine. However, he should know that the hunter can also become the hunted."

"What? You're going to kill Edward Norton?"

"If it comes to that, then yes."

Bain spun on his heel and stomped away. Damien only looked at the skinny blond man and his robed lackey one more time, mentally sending his blessing before following after his owner.

* * *

"So let's give a South Park welcome to Edward Norton!" Mayor McDaniels exclaimed into her mic, the audience clapping with fervor. Moving out of the way, she allowed the town's savior to take her place at the podium, the man gesturing with his hands for the applause to die down.

"Thank you Mayor," Edward Norton said. "This has been one of the best welcomes I have ever had. Thank you South Park, Colorado. In return, I will catch this killer who has wrought a reign of terror over you and free you from his control. We're going to catch this monster, that you can be assured of."

Another round of applause met him and he grinned good naturedly to the townsfolk.

"Yeah, Broncos!" one townsfolk cried out, the cheers increasing in volume.

"Wow, these people really do like me," Edward Norton said to himself. "I can't let them down. No way."

As the noise quieted down, a voice called out, "What makes you think you can do this?"

Unable to see who was questioning him, Edward Norton decided to take one for the team and answer truthfully. "Well, if you look at my credentials, you'll see that I have extensive experience in crime dramas. I was Will Graham in _Red Dragon_ and I co-starred in _Primal Fear_ as a multiple personality killer. I know how a killer's mind works, know what they're thinking of and how. I may not be Chris Hanson but I am certainly at that level of crime busting.

"Plus, I have here with me my life partner Ralph Fiennes who played Francis Dollarhyde in _Red Dragon_ so he too knows what a serial killer thinks like. In fact, Ralph, why don't you show them that think that you do?"

It was now that the townsfolk realized that there was another person up on the stage with Edward Norton, the supposed Ralph Fiennes.

"Aw, do I have to?" Ralph Fiennes complained.

"Do it," Edward Norton demanded in a suddenly dark tone of voice.

"Fine," Ralph Fiennes sighed as he turned his back to the crowd and slipped his robe off, revealing an enormous tattoo of a red dragon on his back. He grunted and groaned as he flexed his back muscles, contorting the tattoo, the entire crowd cowed into silence at the spectacle.

Soon enough, he was pulling his robe back on and Edward Norton was in the middle of smoking a cigarette, as if he had just gotten through a bout of rough sex.

"Oh yeah, that was it," he commented.

From where she was standing, Mayor McDaniels' mouth was agape and her face red, out of both embarrassment and awe for the sight she had just seen. She didn't know whether to hide away in shame or demand the footage of this news conference so that she could masturbate to it later that night.

"You see that people?" Edward Norton said. "This is what your killer is up against and he doesn't stand a chance. You can all sleep easier now that I'm on the case."

There was nothing but silence which was soon replaced by cheers of the townsfolk, obviously impressed and wowed by the display. McDaniels couldn't help but think 'idiots!'

Then again, it was because they were idiots that she was still mayor of this redneck mountain town.

"Alright chief, I'm going to need all those files," Edward Norton stated, somehow getting in front of her and Yates while she had been too busy thinking.

"R…right," Yates answered slowly, obviously still overpowered by that display. "Whatever you want."

She could feel a migraine growing. Whose bright idea was this? Oh wait, hers…

Goddamn it.

* * *

Stan was at his computer, clicking on the mouse lazily as he surfed the net. Normally he would have disregarded the grounding his parents had given him in preference of being out there and doing something about this going out of control situation.

However, his parents were really serious this time.

His father had somehow found some landmines and had planted them around the house before getting dead drunk and forgetting exactly where they were. Then there was the big ass padlock on his windows that no matter how hard he tried, couldn't get around. Lastly, if he peered hard enough, he could see beartraps also out and about, the bait for which was a porn magazine.

Two people had been injured thus far and his social life was down the crapper.

Thus why he was going through with the grounding. Until he could figure out a way around all the security parameters, he was stuck here.

He jolted in surprised as his computer beeped, alerting him to an e-mail that had just come in. Checking to see who it came from, he saw no address from the sender. He debated whether or not to open it, ultimately deciding to risk it.

Fortunately, it wasn't an ad for a penis pump or anything. Instead it was something else.

_Interested in catching the South Park serial killer?_

_Come to Carl's Warehouse at midnight._

_We have punch and pie._

He couldn't help but chuckle at that last part. That was _so_ familiar.

Then he sobered up. Oh hell yeah he wanted to go but the problem was that he couldn't. Noticing the reply button, he smirked and clicked on it, typing up a reply and sending it to the anonymous e-mailer.

Not a minute later, he was replied to but this time it said something different.

_Let us worry about that. Leave via your front door at 2308 hours._

Huh, let's see, army time. That would be…11:08 at night? Well, he'd be ready.

* * *

Kenny relaxed against a wooden crate, hands pillowing his blond head. The gloom of Carl's Warehouse was brightened up by the light of several lanterns and nearby on a table was none other than a few pies and a bowl of punch.

The ladies had certainly gone all out for this.

It had been through Tori's friend, Robyn (he thought that was her name), that he had found out about this. So while Tori thought he was in bed, nursing a stomach ache, he was out at the warehouse and had been the first to arrive. He found several of the girls from school, their sizes and precise decimal popping up in his head immediately.

He had been surprised that size D point eleven and a half…er, he meant Hope Tompson. It had been her idea but then it had been taken over by a couple of the other girls who were better at organizing these things. Jess Skidmore and Rhiannon Edwards were the main brains behind the operation as the two worked fabulously together despite contrasting like a rainbow to noir.

Minutes later, he was joined by Siryn Lupus who was instantly chattering with anyone in earshot, followed by Christophe and a freaked out looking Stan and a dispassionate Lottery Ticket.

Could it be that he was going to get lucky this night?

"H-hey guys!" a familiar yet stammering voice greeted. "Wow it's so dark and musty in here. Hey, nice cobwebs!"

"Shut it Butters," several voices voiced, Kenny's being one of them.

He liked the kid, really, but sometimes he could be so annoying…

As the hour drew to a close, other guys from their school showed up. Token, Clyde, Craig, surprisingly Tweek, a couple of the other girls from school who remained nameless to him despite their boob size (both were A's, not large enough for his tastes), that guy with the scar who hung around Lottery Ticket all the time, and Jace Martson. He was a bit disappointed that Chase hadn't shown up but what else could you expect?

Funny thing, though, Wendy or any of her friends hadn't shown up when the clock struck midnight. You'd think someone like Wendy Testaburger would try to get in on this.

Well, whatever. There was plenty of boobage for him right now, so much in fact that he almost missed Robyn take a seat next to him. Fortunately, he had detected movement from the corner of his eye and instinctively checked out what it was.

He gave the girl a lustful grin, earning a blush for it as the girl looked away from him quickly.

Oh the power that he wielded…

The second it was midnight, Jess Skidmore was front and center, capturing everyone's attention with her words. "Alright people, let's get this thing rolling. We all know why we're here and…Craig, what are you doing?"

Everyone turned their heads to said boy who was standing at the only table in the warehouse, cutting himself a piece of pie. He looked back at them and blinked. "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here for the punch and pie. Continue, please."

"Ooh! You guys have pie?" Butters asked excitedly.

"Shut up Butters," Jess growled. Sighing, she continued, "We've all heard about that serial killer going about, right? I think it's the same guy who got Kyle."

Kenny raised an eyebrow at that. However it was the Mole who voiced the question that was on his mind.

"Vat makes you come to zat conclusion?"

"I just have this feeling," she shrugged. "Women's intuition, ya know?"

"That's stupid," Craig said from the back, munching on his pie.

"Errk! Isn't it obvious?" Tweek exclaimed, vibrating like a dryer on heavy duty. "It's the Underpants Gnomes! Why don't you guys believe me?"

"Oh Goddamn it," Stan moaned from his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Underpants Gnomes aren't going around killing people, Tweek."

"Wait, you believe him?" Rhiannon asked, looking at Stan queerly.

"I gotta agree with him," Kenny shrugged. "The only time they ever killed somebody was me and that was because of an accident. All they want to know is what Step 2 is, right?"

"Gah!" Tweek cried out, pulling at his own hair.

"Forget about the fucking gnomes already!" Jess snapped. "It isn't some stupid mythological creatures that are running around killing people! It's probably some creepy guy in a poncho."

"That was the Left Hand Killer," Stan pointed out. "Kyle had to jump off his roof so that the police would listen to him about that. Also, no one in a poncho has shown up recently either."

"So who do you think it is?" Token took command, his presence a more uniting one than any other thus far. "Could it be somebody that moved in recently? Or could Jess be right and it's the same guy from the Highway 34 killings?"

Christophe snorted and looked over to Lottery Ticket and asked in a sardonic voice, "Vat does your boyfriend 'ave to say on zis, hmm?"

Kenny turned his attention towards Charlie and raised an eyebrow, wondering what the local mercenary was talking about. Taking a moment to get more comfortable, he slid further down onto the floor and rested his head into the lap of Robyn who was blushing like a Christmas light.

"First of all, we aren't going out, Frenchie," Lottery Ticket huffed, crossing her arms. "Second of all, I couldn't find Bain so that I could drag him here to talk about it."

"Wait, are you talking about that creepy kid in the trenchcoat?" Stan interrupted.

Kenny heard a whimper of fear in the direction of Rhiannon and it took but a second for the image of said creepy boy to pop up in his head. Ah yes, Bain, the town recluse and part-time money lender. That reminded him; he needed to scrape together seventy bucks quickly. It was getting close to the deadline.

"Yeah, him," Charlie confirmed. "He knows a lot about this stuff."

"But he could probably be the serial killer too," Token pointed out. "He's creepy enough to just be one."

"Ooh! Like in the movies!" Joshua, the guy with the scar cried out. "Use a serial killer to catch a serial killer! Or is it use a serial killer to catch himself? Hey, that's almost like the beginning of _Red Dragon_!"

"Hey, we're trying to have a serious conversation over here!" Jess shot back.

"As much as Bain would love to have you guys think that, I don't think he's crazy enough to go that far," Charlie argued. "He's more like a poser than anything."

"Are you forgeeting something Charlie?" Christophe asked wryly. "He keeled Jack, remember?"

"You mean this guy has already killed someone!" Token exclaimed.

"Whoa dude!" Stan yelled out in agreement.

"First of all, he got off for self-defense or some shit," Charlie stated. "That and I think his mother pulled some strings and flashed some boobs."

"Sounds dreamy," Kenny said dazedly, trying to imagine what the woman may have looked like.

Noticing his look, Stan said, "Yeah, she was really hot. I think I heard a couple girls say they'd go gay for her, she was that good looking."

"Oh man…" Kenny moaned.

"Dude!" Stan cried out. "Cover yourself man!"

Blinking himself out of fantasies of hot lesbo action, Kenny looked down to see that he was pitching a tent and fairly obviously too. "Huh, well what do you know?"

"Dude, that is so gross," Craig commented from where he stood, eating another piece of pie.

"Anybody like a ride?" he asked lewdly, wangling his eyebrows.

When he saw a gun barrel right in his face, he found that all the blood in his body was leaving from down under and heading to other parts of his body.

"Zere, now was zat so hard?" Christophe asked as he reholstered his gun.

"You're a real cockblock, you know that?" the blond whined.

"Can we just focus here people?" Jess growled, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Charlie, why shouldn't we look at Bain? What makes you think he's innocent?"

"Besides the fact he told me that I was next?" the girl asked dryly.

"I wouldn't put it past 'im to lie," Christophe pointed out. "'E is what you would call a sociopath, yes?"

"Is that like a fancy word for crazy guy?" Stan asked.

"Alright, then prove he's the killer," Charlie demanded challengingly. "Tell me one thing that makes him a damn suspect."

"He did throw those empty jugs out," Joshua pointed out. "And you told me there was acid in them."

"Yeah, and I looked that stuff up for you," Siryn put in.

"Yes, an' 'e wouldn't be ze first to destroy evidence zat way," Christophe mused. "But it could also be for somezing else. Wat kind of acid was eet?"

"It was stuff you used in photography," Siryn chirped.

"Did any of you guys think that he might be part of the photography club?" Craig voiced outloud. "Or that he's part of the yearbook committee?"

Charlie was quiet but everyone else was murmuring about what Craig had said. To Kenny, it looked like they were marking off another suspect. Still, he had another one they could look at, one in which he was more sure of.

"What about the Antichrist?" he asked a loud.

"Kenny," Stan moaned.

"Who?" a few people asked.

"You mean that kid that moved in back when we were in third grade?" Token asked.

"Yeah, Damien," Kenny clarified. "When Stan and I went by Cartman's this morning, we ran into some kind of invisible wall. I think Damien was there at the time Cartman was being killed."

"That sounds strange," Christophe murmured. "Funny, I was attacked ze ozzer day by some kid. Eet was…very strange, almost supernatural."

"Yeah, and the big man, Satan, told me himself that he was out of contact with him," Kenny shrugged. "He closed the fucking gates of Hell and now nobody can get in."

"Let me get this straight," Rhiannon said, holding a hand up. "Are you suggesting that Damien might be the guy we're looking for?"

"Well, he was at Cartman's and why else would he have been there?" Kenny answered. "Didn't see him leave, though. How hard is it to catch a guy in all black with red eyes?"

"Hey, Lucky mention something like that," Clyde spoke up. "She told me the other day that that Bain guy held a knife up to a neck and asked about someone who looked like that."

"So eet would seem zat Bain might know more about wat is going on," Christophe murmured, a hand on his chin.

"You know what, I think I need to have another talk with him," Charlie said suddenly.

"Yeah, you do that," Stan agreed. "Meanwhile we'll try to find Damien and find out what the hell he's doing."

"You really believe this shit?" Craig asked. "Wait, I forgot who I was speaking to."

"Hey, shut up Craig!" Stan yelled, glaring at the other boy.

"I'm just saying," Craig shrugged. "How do you really know if this kid is behind any of this? You're jumping at the first thing that makes sense."

"Because it does make sense," Stan argued.

"And even if he is the guy you're looking for," Craig continued only to be interrupted.

"The guy 'you're' looking for?" Jess asked. "Don't you mean 'we're'?"

"No. I'm not helping," Craig stated blandly. "Anyway, even if he is the guy you're looking for, how are you going to find him? You're going to have to think like him and no one around here has that mindset."

"Oh, I know someone!" Butters chirped. "She's really dark and bad! She can think just like this fellow!"

"Really Butters?" Stan deadpanned.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, needle in my eye, Stan," Butters swore solemnly. "Needle in my eye."

* * *

They had left soon after they had ironed out some details and while Jess felt pumped that they were going to do something to help their town out of the hole that it had dug itself into, she was a bit down that Craig wouldn't be a part of it.

Still, she told herself, she was doing the right thing and who knew, Craig might be impressed by this. So what if this wasn't the usual going to the mall or hanging out at some arcade, this was something to do damn it! The adults were too stupid to do anything right and besides, this is usually how things went down anyway.

With Rhiannon, Siryn, Token, and Joshua at her side, following after her since their homes were close to one another, she found her attention attracted towards the flashing red and blue lights across the street.

Immediately, she recognized whose house it was that she was staring at.

"Is it another murder?" she heard Siryn ask a loud and in her gut, Jess knew that was what it was.

But why had it happened at Wendy Testaburger's house?

Without a second thought, she left the group and crossed the street, heading for the nearest police officer who just happened to be Officer Barbrady.

"Alright, stand back people, there's nothing to see here!" the officer called out, a long line of yellow tape behind him supposedly boxing in the scene of the crime but was instead stuck to the bottom of his shoe and connected to an errant bush.

"What's going on?" she asked loudly.

"I already said, there's nothing to see here," Barbrady reiterated.

"And what is this nothing?" she asked.

"A double murder," Barbrady unwittingly answered. "See? Nothing. Now move along…say, what are you doing out of your homes?"

Noticing that the others had followed after her, she was cut off by Siryn before she could give a probable alibi. "We were coming home from a party. Is something wrong?"

"Hey! What are you kids doing here?" a gray-haired detective suddenly demanded, the man stomping over to them with a scowl. "Don't you kids know that there's a curfew?"

Curfew? The teens looked at each other and back at the officer.

"Sorry officer," Token began but was cut off.

"That's Detective, Detective Mitch Murphy to you," the detective stated. "And don't you know that it's illegal for you to be out here?"

"Detective…" Token tried again but was interrupted once again.

"Don't you know it's against the law to be black on a Friday night in Park County?" Murphy growled.

"Um…right, sorry," Token growled out through his gritted teeth, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were starting to turn white. "It's just that a friend of mine lives here and I'm…worried about her."

"Oh, so you're a friend," Murphy said, his tone lightening up somewhat. "Then maybe I can excuse your breaking the law if you would identify the bodies."

Gulping, Token said, "Okay, but can my friends wait right here?"

"Sure, sure, whatever," Murphy said. "Now come with me."

Jess watched as the two vanished inside the house and she bit her lip. Various scenarios flashed through her mind, so many in fact that it felt like forever had passed before Token reappeared, looking almost pale. "Scared white" as it were.

"Who is it?" she asked as soon as she was sure that he was within hearing range.

Token didn't answer immediately; he just stared into space with this far off look in his eyes and it took her a couple more times asking him what he saw before he returned to reality and answered her.

"It was….it was Wendy and Bebe," he gasped out, received gasps from the rest of them. "Oh God, it was so horrible. They were mutilated! I couldn't recognize them by their faces! Jesus Christ, what the hell have we gotten into?"

At that moment, Jess couldn't help but ask that question as well.


	28. Montage

Author's Note: I'm a bit proud of this chapter, particularly the last section. I did my best to somehow insert a montage into this fic using a variety of songs from different sources. Anyone who can guess all the songs correctly gets a chapter dedication for the next chapter. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the song lyrics used.

Warning: language

Montage

Charlie needed to find Bain; she really and truly did.

Call it a lightbulb clicking on, a flare of intuition, whatever you want, but when you looked at all the pieces to the puzzle that she was trying to solve, a vague picture always kept popping up. She needed to talk to Bain and that would either confirm or deny the theory that she was working on.

There were so many things: the fact that acid was a common way to destroy a body and that Bain had been throwing away empty jugs of acid; having all those true crime novels, who needed so many and why; Bain knowing where she lived and the way he had let her know about that.

And then there were those words he said in the car. "That's what they all say." She had laughed at the idea that Bain could be a murderer but when she really thought about it, there had been something different about the guy since six months ago. Sometime before Kyle disappeared in fact, but right after Jack.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The other kids at school were saying the same thing that she was beginning to believe but she wanted to be one hundred percent sure that Bain was a killer.

Had this been anybody else, she probably would have joined the bandwagon yet when it was this asshole, she hesitated. But why? Why him? Why the guy that had tried to hurt and maim her, kill her on one occasion, get inside her head and make her so unsure of everything she thought she was and what she knew.

She reached Bain's house with no problem, no one around the question what she was doing out so late. She was about to knock on the door when she paused. It was real late out; there was a chance that Bain's parents could be asleep. Looking at the house, she couldn't tell which one was a window to Bain's room, thus putting her back at square one. Should she ring the doorbell and wake everyone up, thus earning possibly another death threat from Bain?

Oh fuck it.

However, before she could put her finger on that small button, the door opened by itself, revealing a large man in a bathrobe who was staring down at him through wired frames impassively.

She blinked, not recognizing the man.

"Can I help you?" the man asked.

Startled, she spoke the first thing that came to her mind. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Heard you walking towards the door," the man shrugged. "Your shoes make quite the clacking sound."

Huh. She hadn't noticed that she was walking so loud and…wait, who the hell was this guy?

It was as if the man was a mindreader as he introduced himself, "I'm James Cynis, Bain's father. I'm guessing that you are here to see Bain."

Whoa, creepy. So this was Bain's father? The guy who did her mother's books? Well, at least she knew that he didn't get his height from his father.

"You're going to have to come back later," James said. "It's too early for you to be here and I need to get back to bed. You can talk about killers when it's daylight."

"Wait, how do you know that?" she demanded, grasping onto the first words she could.

"I was in the room over and heard you," the man answered.

She was about to yell at the man for eavesdropping but then a memory popped up in her head. She could see Bain sitting in that chair, dressed in that trenchcoat and sleepwear of his but then that scene panned upwards and to the left where the dining room could be seen and sitting in a chair, reading the paper was…Bain's father…

She was brought out of her recollection by the shutting of a door. Hey, that guy just closed the door in her face! …it was too early in the morning for her to go kicking ass right now. She had taken down larger men before, so it wasn't the size of Bain's father that was keeping her from beating him up.

It was just too late to be kicking ass is all.

* * *

It was barely ten o'clock in the morning when Stan found himself once again sneaking out of his house and joining up with Jess, Token, Siryn, and Butters, Butters leading them to the person that he had mentioned last night.

However, when they reached the house, they had all given the blond boy dubious looks.

"You have got to be kidding."

"No, no, I'm serious," Butters said. "No one around here has as dark a soul as she does. She just hides it real well is all."

"You better be right about this," Jess threatened.

* * *

"Loo loo loo, Alice gots some apples. Loo loo loo, you got some too!" Alice Lufkin sang as she placed newly bought apples into a large ceramic bowl. Alice's mother was so insistent that she get as much fruit in her diet as possible and what better way to do that than putting fruit out in the open?

Wondering if she should have one now, she paused as she heard the doorbell ring, signaling that they had visitors.

"Alice will get it!" she called out and skipping towards the front door, cheerfully forgetting her earlier dilemma of whether or not to eat an apple. Alice could always have one later.

Opening the door, she exclaimed "Butters!" and swept the boy up into a tight hug. "Alice is surprised to see you so early!"

"Hey Alice," Butters greeted back just as cheerfully.

Noticing that Butter wasn't alone, she said, "You brought friends, Butters dear!"

"Yeah, these guys just want to ask you something. I told them you wouldn't mind," Butters said. "Can we come inside?"

"Sure! Alice was just putting groceries away," she answered and pulled away from the boy, motioning to the wide open door.

Unlike Butters, the four that were with him trudged into her home but she didn't really pay it any mind. They were probably just tired. But that was all right! Alice's daddy made coffee before he went to work!

She even offered some but the friends Butters had brought along refused. Huh, oh well, they knew it was there then in case they wanted some later.

"So what is it you wanted to ask Alice about?" she asked curiously, her head tilting to a side.

"Well, the guys here want to see your…well, you know," Butters began, though lowering his voice towards the end.

"You know what?" she asked, blinking owlishly.

"You know," Butters tried to express but he wasn't getting through to her. Still, it was cute to watch.

"Look, Alice," Jess suddenly spoke up. "Butters claims that you can think like an evil guy. Tell me that he's just being a dumbass and we'll leave right now."

She paled. Butters…had told? She was unconsciously humming a tune under her breath as memories flooded her mind, memories of things that she didn't usually like to entertain.

"So will you help us out?" Butters asked, looking at her hopefully.

"I…" she gulped, her mouth dry. "I-I-I can't. I can't Butters!" She immediately began pacing, however to the normal person, it looked weird that she was pacing _backwards_ and not, you know, forward.

Wrapped up in her own crises, she didn't notice the others trade worrying looks with one another.

"I'm not like that!" she continued to protest, notably not talking about herself in the third person, a plain sign that she was distressed. "I don't like being that!"

"Alice, I know you don't like it, and by Golly, neither do I," Butters said in an attempt to calm her down. "But these guys, they want to find this kid, the Antichrist I think, who's been wandering around here lately. To do that, they need to think like him and you're the only person who can!"

"But…what if I hurt someone?" she asked quietly, wrapping her arms around her body in a vain move to comfort herself.

She felt Butters place his hand on her shoulder and squeeze reassuringly. "That's something we're just going to have to risk. Remember the other me? Professor Chaos?"

"Yes," she said. "I…Alice remembers."

"Why you handled him without breaking a sweat," the blond boy exclaimed. "I think I can handle the other you the same way."

She looked up into those innocent baby blues that belonged to the boy on whom Alice crushed. Alice knew that she couldn't deny those eyes anything and Alice knew that Alice was going to have to go through with this.

"A-alright," Alice stammered. "Just…let me go away for a minute."

Butters nodded and stepped away, his hand leaving her shoulder but its warmth still lingering.

With that, Alice turned and headed up the stairs to her room where she shut the door real tightly and gave a soulful sigh. There was no going back now.

She walked to her closet and opened it up, pushing past the usual assortment of clothes that she wore on a daily basis, various pictures and sayings of cuteness as well as many pairs of neon jeans to a small alcove hidden behind it all. The she took out a tight, black outfit, complete with skull jewelry and black leather jacket.

Taking it out, she changed from her usually bright and chipper attire to this more dark and depressing outfit. Simultaneously, her personality changed with every switch of clothing and once she had donned on the tight, black tank top and jeans with studded leather belt along with a skull medallion and colorful stones of sapphire and jade, she headed to her vanity where she took a spray bottle and began squirting water into her black mane of hair until it was damp enough to be straightened out. Some eyeliner was applied to make her normally large and bright green eyes more sharp and narrow and lastly, once the cosmetics had been done, she opened one last draw and removed a long riding crop.

Testing it in one hand, an uncharacteristic smile split her altered face but was soon wiped away with a scowl. Without flare or any feminist spin, she marched out of her room and back down the stairs to where the others waited for her.

She immediately noticed that Butters was nervous as he was rubbing his knuckles together and she would have admitted it was cute had she cared. The others though, the people she knew to be Token Black, Stan Marsh, Jess Skidmore, and Siryn Lupus all stared at her in disbelief, as if not believing her transformation.

"Wow, Goth much?" Siryn asked shakily, as if trying to make a joke and failing miserably.

She wouldn't stand for this.

With a flick of her wrist, she whipped Siryn in the cheek with her crop, taking advantage of the bitch's shock to grab her by the hair and sharply pulling back on it, Siryn's head tilting upwards to try and relieve the pain in her scalp.

"I'd shut it, cunt," she growled into the bitch's ear, tugging her hair one more time to emphasize her point. "You have a big mouth, you know? Next time you say something, I'm going to shove this crop so far up your ass that you'll be tasting the leather for years to come, understand?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, this is going far enough!" Stan Marsh cried out as he went to the bitch's aid. However, the Dark Alice rolled her eyes spun herself with Siryn so that she was in-between her and her would-be savior. Kicking a leg back, the back of her foot caught Stan in the groin and he collapsed instantly, clutching at his throbbing manhood.

To add further injury to insult, she plant the same foot she had kicked him with and stomped it into his ribs, earning a grunt that was music to her ears.

Jess looked like she was about to enter the fray but Token grabbed onto her and held her back. "Hold it Jess!" he ordered. "Don't make any sudden moves!"

"Oh jeez," Butters moaned, his anxiety increasing.

"Okay assholes and bitches, you wanted me," Dark Alice stated. "Now you have me."

* * *

There were boxes and boxes of Xeroxed copies of all the files the police had on their serial killer and Edward Norton was ready to dive into it all. He was not in the least bit intimidated; he had read and done scripts way longer than this.

It was going to be a cinch really.

But first, he needed to get his thinking music playing and he would be ready to go. Taking out a small remote to his portable stereo (i.e. read collection of every electronic piece of equipment all hooked up to two small speakers, the total thing weight somewhere in the hundreds of pounds), he dialed a few buttons and felt unfelt tension leave his shoulders as the beginning lyrics of a song poured out.

_It's raining men! Hallelujah, it's raining men!_

Oh yeah, that was it.

_I'm gonna go out_

_I'm gonna let myself get_

_Absolutely soaking wet!_

Okay, if the first victim was here, then what caused this guy to snap in the first place? Lost his job, broke up with his girlfriend, became Homeless? What was it exactly? And why did he choose those woods right there to dump the bodies?

He had a feeling that what the police had thus far hadn't been all the victims. No, if this guy had been killing for at least six months, there had to be more of them, more than likely dumped in different places. That was another thing they were going to have to do: look for more dump sites.

_I'm a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world_

_Life is plastic, it's fantastic!_

Cause of deaths were always iffies, especially since most had already decomposed, thus losing anything that could point to say assault, stabbing, asphyxiation, etc…

Thus far, all the victims, with the exception of one, were females. Why did he kill that one Jewish kid? Was it to cover up a crime? Was it spontaneous? Did he owe him money? Or was it plain old opportunity?

_The hour's approaching to give it your best_

_You've got to reach your prime_

_That's when you need to put yourself to the test_

_And show us a passage of time_

_We're going to need a montage!_

So in order to get said victims to said places, he had to get a hold of them somewhere else, right? So what was around the area? Bars? Was he the local designated driver? But then why kill those who you know? It would just attract attention to you so why do it?

Ooh, this was tough, almost like teaching Ralph not to come without permission.

_Up there, there's so much room_

_Where babies burp and flowers bloom_

_People can dream, I can dream too!_

_Somewhere up there_

And if the pattern went this way, then it would have to be a J, right? But wait, in Latin, it begins with an I. This went so deep, deep into the faith of Christianity, right down to the time of the Greek Gods who ruled the world with an iron fist.

_Don't cry for me Argentina_

_The truth is I never left you_

_All through my wild days_

_My mad existence_

_I kept my promise_

_Don't keep your distance_

And if this equaled that, then it meant that Al and Peg Bundy were the assassins behind the grassy knoll! By God, then the Soviet Empire was actually a force for good and not evil? And peyote was actually good for your health? Christ these mushrooms were starting to get to him.

_Maybe I'm the one, maybe I'm the one_

_Who is the schizophrenic psycho —_

"Wait, hold on a minute," he snapped out suddenly, stopping his thrusts forward. "What was I suppose to be doing again?"

He took a second to take out the ball gag and await Ralph's answer.

"You were going over those files, trying to find that serial killer?" Ralph deadpanned, sounding nasally as his nose wasn't attached.

"Oh yeah, that's right!" he perked up, putting the ball gag back in.

_I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts_

_Deedle le dee_

_There they are standing in a row_

"That's it!" he cried out loud. "It all makes sense now! The opportunity, the circumstances, the killer himself! Oh, am I good or what!"

"Mmfph mrrf mmph."

"Oh, sorry about that Ralph."

"Christ, I swear you got to my lower intestines you ninny!"

"Sorry about that, I just solved the case! Call the mayor and the police so that we can hold a press conference. This is something that no one is going to want to miss!"


	29. Edward Norton Gives a Presentation

Author's Note: No one guessed the songs in the last chapter, huh? Well, that means this is one chapter that won't be dedicated to anyone. So, here were the answers: "It's Raining Men" by The Weather Girls, " "Barbie Girl" by Aqua, "Montage" and "Up There" by Matt Stone and Trey Parker from Team America: World Police and South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" by Madonna from Evita, "Psycho" by Puddle of Mudd, and "I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts" from Monty Python. Don't own any of those songs. Without further ado, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Edward Norton Gives a Presentation

Butters shifted nervously in his seat, his eyes darting over to where "Dark Alice" was busy giving Jess an Indian burn while talking casually about random gossip. He accepted this side of the girl who usually made him feel all fluttery and squirmy in his stomach but that didn't mean that he like it. It was such a personality shift yet Alice herself was uncomfortable enough with it that she had to change her appearance, like it was a whole different personality.

The thing was there was no second personality, just one in that pretty little head of Alice's.

Thus far, Stan and Token were on guard, bags of ice on their crotches while Jess and Siryn were now bearing the blunt of Dark Alice. Thus far, she hadn't turned to him yet and he kept his fingers cross that she had forgotten that he was even there.

"And ever since then, I've been wanting to take Craig, his fucked up teeth and all, and shove it into a blender," Dark Alice said cheerfully, Jess now in a headlock and thrashing about in it, trying to get some relief from the strain it caused as well as for the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

"That's…nice," Stan said out loud, wincing as he pressed his bag of ice further into his groin. "Can we talk now?"

"But I thought we were already talking," Dark Alice said innocently, her eyes wide.

"Then can we talk about what we want to talk about?" Stan asked desperately.

"Nothing's stopping you."

"Right," Stan gulped. "Well, you know we're trying to find this kid, Damien. He's the Antichrist and has all these freaky powers and all."

Dark Alice's answer was to slug Stan in the face, momentarily releasing Jess from her headlock, the girl scrambling away as far as she could. "And," she said, rolling her eyes. "Where are you trying to go with this?"

"Well, we're wondering where somebody like him would go and stay," Token picked up, shifting away ever so slightly in the hopes that he wouldn't be hit next. "So, we needed someone who could think like him and all."

"Really? Don't know if you came to the right place though," Dark Alice shrugged. "But, if I had to guess, I bet he'd be handing around with that Bain guy. You know, the one always throwing knives around? Boy, I would love to get him alone and show him _my_ knives…"

"Charlie would beat the shit out of you if she heard that," Siryn piped up.

Dark Alice glanced at Siryn with half lidded eyes, staring the other girl down until Siryn meekly looked away and shrank in on herself.

"Okay…" Token trailed off. "Well, what makes you say he's with him?"

"He's one of those evil, psychopathic people who dreams of killing or maiming whoever gets in their way without a second thought or a hint of remorse," Dark Alice answered. "That, and he's hasn't been in school lately and he never misses a day of school unless something happens and he does one of his disappearing acts."

"So you think one evil bastard would hang around with another evil bastard," Jess stated, finally gathering enough wits and courage to speak again.

"Beats me," Dark Alice shrugged. "That's just where I'd look first. Especially since Bain's been acting weird recently. Well, weirder than normal but it could be a red herring, I don't know."

"All right, so we check out Bain's house and see if Damien could be there?" Token asked.

"If you'd like," Dark Alice shrugged. "It's not really my problem now, is it?"

Butters had kinda expected to hear that, especially since this was the side of Alice that was selfish and sadistic. Of course, there were times when he worried that she would have been somewhat attracted to someone similar to her and it would be times like these when he felt completely inadequate.

"Well, okay, it's been fun," Stan spoke up quickly, scooting his way towards the door. "Thanks for talking with us but we're gonna go and try to find Bain now and see if he's with Damien and all so…"

"…so why don't you go back upstairs and get changed?" Token suggested. "It's warm outside and everything and I'd think you'd get overheated in all that stuff."

"Huh, but I thought it was cold out," Dark Alice said in a wondering tone. Shrugging, she gave them all a bright smile and said, "Alice would like to go to. Would you wait while Alice changes?"

"S-sure we will," Butters answered, ignoring the dirty looks he was getting from the others. To be honest, he was relieved to see that Alice was speaking more like Alice than Dark Alice and if he could get her speaking like Good Alice, then she would be back to normal in no time.

* * *

With all the shit that was going on in the town, Christophe wanted to get both himself and Rhiannon out of there, or at least get Rhiannon to a safe place so that he could come back and deal with whatever the hell it was back there and not have to worry about his girlfriend's safety.

There was no doubt in his mind, Bain was behind all this. Somehow and some way, he was doing all this and not getting caught. He knew that it would only be a matter of time before he went after Rhiannon again and with how many people he was knocking off successfully, he didn't want to chance letting her get hurt.

He had failed her before but he wasn't planning on doing it this time.

Rhiannon, though, had been protesting the entire time. Seemed as if barging into her house, packing some random shit, and then dragging her out, much to the bewilderment of her family, wasn't something she took kindly too.

Once he had explained what he was up to, that seemed to piss her off even further. Sometimes he couldn't understand how girls thought and his usual procedure on how to deal with that was simple. Ignore them. Why try to figure out something he couldn't process when ignoring it was so much easier to do and included the side effect of not getting a headache?

That was an hour ago and by now, Rhiannon had settled for fuming seethingly in her seat, clearly expressing that she was not going to be talking with him any time soon. There was nothing for it; they were close to a safehouse he had hidden out here in case the heat was on and he couldn't get back into town. No one knew it was here, not even Charlie, a contingency in case the worst had happened and he couldn't go to others for help.

There was no better place to stash Rhiannon and be sure that she wouldn't get hurt.

Driving as carefully as he could since the weather outside wasn't very productive to making quick escapes, especially since it was snowing, the wind blowing hard enough that he had to use both hands to grip onto the steering wheel so that they wouldn't be blown off the road. Being this high up in the mountains, the roads weren't that well maintained so the higher they went, the slower the going was.

He glanced at his rainbow-colored girlfriend, checking on her to make sure that she was physically okay, his eyes going back to the road just as quickly. As a mercenary, he knew how to multitask so taking his eyes off the road wouldn't be detrimental. He heard a huff come from Rhiannon and he school his facial features blank so that the corners of his lips wouldn't lift.

Girls could be so moody sometimes. But then, it also made some look cute, just like Rhiannon here. Whether that was bias or not, he could have cared less.

All right, he could see the turn coming up; if you didn't know it was there, you'd miss it without even knowing. He slowed down so that he could make the turn but just as soon as he made it, he came to a stop.

It was maybe twenty, thirty feet ahead but he could see someone standing in the middle of the road, a black trenchcoat flapping in an unnatural wind. His sharp eyes could pick out distinctive features and he immediately knew who it was.

The question was what was Bain Cynis doing here?

The second question was how did he know about this road?

"Is that…?" he heard Rhiannon ask quietly but he didn't bother answering when the answer itself was obvious.

He narrowed his eyes and took his foot off the brake, instead placing it on the accelerator. The engine roar as he drove his car at near high speeds towards the boy who had on more than one occasion traumatized Rhiannon. And now he was out there terrorizing the town somehow. This was a chance to put an end to it right now.

"Christophe!" he heard Rhiannon shriek. "You're going too—oh Blimey you're going to hit him!"

That was precisely the point.

He could see the arrogant smirk on Bain's face but before he could have the satisfaction of seeing that smirk pressed against his windshield, Bain disappeared in a flurry of snow that reduced his visibility to nil.

He slammed on the brakes, internally wincing at the sound of skidding, the steering wheel almost pulling out of his grasp. He managed to hold onto it, though, which may have been a good thing since visibility just returned to him, as well as the sight of a guardrail about five feet ahead of them.

He pressed harder on the brakes and sharply turned the steering wheel, his heart dropping as the car itself spun and tore into the railing, Rhiannon's screams just barely covering the shrieking of metal against metal. There was an abrupt stop and Christophe found himself suddenly embedded into the driver side window, as if he had been knocked out for just a second.

He could hear Rhiannon groaned from beside him and a cursory glance revealed a slight gash on her forehead. He couldn't tell if she was hurt anywhere else and he hoped that gash was the worst of it. Taking in his sore body, he figured there was nothing worse for wear on him other than his head pressed into the cracked window.

The status of the car was next and from how his sideview mirror was angled, he could see the rear wheels of the car dangling over nothing. He felt dread ball up inside him at the realization that the car was balanced right on the edge of the cliff, the very reason the guardrail was placed where it was.

This was not good.

He barely made out the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow but he knew that someone else was out there when the passenger side door opened up slowly. He lowered a hand towards the buckle of his seatbelt but froze when he caught the flash of a knife, its blade placed up against Rhiannon's throat.

There was no way he was going to risk her.

"Don't make a single move," he heard Bain's velvety voice demand. "Now, here is the deal, try and get out of the car or even your seat, and I slit this bitch's throat, yes? Stay where you are and I guarantee that her throat will remain unmaimed, understand?"

He slowly nodded his head, nonverbally saying that he understood.

"Good," Bain said, the knife pulling away from Rhiannon's neck and to her seatbelt, the blade cutting through it simply.

Christophe continued to glare as he watched Bain pull Rhiannon out of the car, the girl coming to and dazed, not realizing the danger she was in. His eyes remained on Bain as the other boy dragged his girlfriend in front of the car and dropped her, turning to look him straight in the eyes.

His smirk widening, Bain approached the car and stopped right in front of the bumper, raising a foot up and setting it right on it.

"You have no idea how much of a thorn you've been in my side," Bain stated. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to cut you into little pieces and feed you to that rainbow bitch over there. Don't even get me started with Charlotte but I'll be dealing with her later. Instead, I would like to take this time and give you a parting word.

"Checkmate."

Bain pressed his foot harder against the bumper and that was enough to destroy the precarious balance of the car. Christophe struggled to free himself from the car but before he could even unbuckle his seatbelt, the car was already falling off the cliff into the white abyss below.

* * *

Bain remained standing where he was, his smirk almost splitting his face in half as he heard the car explode down below. He looked over the cliff and squinted his eyes, trying to see through the flurry of snow, picking out a small black trail of smoke.

He chuckled and turned his sights back to Rhiannon Edwards who was pushing herself up off the snow covered road, her eyes blinking dazedly as she tried to figure out where she was.

With calculated steps, he approached the girl, twirling Winslow in his fingers. He was a bit put off that the rainbow bitch hadn't regained all her wits yet and thus decided to help her out by stomping his booted foot unmercifully on an unguarded hand.

Rhiannon yelped, Bain sure that the pain was clearing her mind instantly. He watched as the girl saw his foot and raised her head slowly up to his face, fear growing with each inch her eyes lifted. He smiled wickedly down at her, his eyes gleaming with a homicidal rush.

"Oh, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this."

Rhiannon whimpered, tears beading up in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, but mustered up some of her formidable will to demand, "Why are you doing this?"

"Why?" he repeated mockingly. "No particular reason. You could say I'm addicted to the thrill of the hunt and kill but really, when you get down to it, I just fucking enjoy it."

Acting unexpectedly, he backhanded the girl, his foot remaining on her hand without releasing it. He increased the pressure, reveling in her whimpers of pain before finally removing his booted foot. He kept his eyes on her, only glancing at his cohort who stood stoically away from it all, unfazed.

"Please scream all you want. No one will hear it and it'll make this all that more enjoyable."

Tightening his grip on Winslow, he knelt down before Rhiannon and got to work.

* * *

Edward Norton sighed in frustration; this was not a press conference by any definition of the word. It was as if they hadn't heard a word he had said.

There weren't any reporters, just various cops with all their eyes on him, waiting for him to begin. He shot an ominous look at Ralph Fiennes, promising someone was going to pay for this, one way or another.

"So, Mr. Norton," the head cop with the red hair and mustache who he assumed to be in charge began, "what is it that you have found?"

"I would have preferred speaking to the press," he stated, shooting an evil eye at the officer, "but I guess this will have to do. Now, what I found is that this killer has more than likely killed many more times than you think. You probably haven't found all the dump sites, which is okay since these things are hidden on purpose.

"Anyway, I think this guy has a lot of hatred in him, probably from abuse or neglect. And if this is the same guy who's stepped up his rate of slashing, then he probably has a lot of arrogance and feels somewhat invincible. He taunting now, but that also makes him more vulnerable than before.

"After doing some further research, I have narrowed down my list of suspects down to about five, which I have taped to this dry erase board over here."

He gestured to said board where five small photos were; the police officers and detectives squinted their eyes to get a better look but couldn't, none thinking about getting up and going up to the pictures themselves. Also, no one had thought to copy them and give each officer those copies.

"Now, this guy, and I'm sure it's a guy, is not going to be stopping unless he dies or we catch him first. We do have clues to who he is; these people that he has killed weren't random. They were chosen, chosen for a reason. We don't know what the links between them all are but that's the key to solving this. Find it and we can save some lives. Not a lot of lives, but you get the point.

"Now, back to the killer. I and my associate have come up with a profile of this guy, which we will tell you all about right now. All the suspects that we have match this profile, that's why they are suspects. Our killer is short, really short and very sensitive about it. In all odds, this killing spree was started all by a badly timed short joke. Also, when we mean short, we also mean that his package is tiny, like a Japanese man's, and that he might also be impotent. ED and all."

A bunch of male officers crossed their legs.

"He tries to hide this by wielding big weapons, like knives, axes, a samurai sword and he probably has even given them names. For example, Bowie, Smith, Wesson, Winslow."

A police officer raised his hand. "Why Wesson?"

Edward Norton gave him a look, and the guy beside him hit him upside the head.

"Why name his weapon?" Yates asked.

Edward Norton turned his gaze to Yates. "Because it makes him God. Would you give that up?"

"That sounds stupid," Yates stated.

Edward Norton stared him down for a moment before asking, "What's the name of your gun?"

Yates looked down in shame. "Shirley Temple."

"And mine's called Big Ed but only Ralph would know that," Edward Norton continued blithely. "But that's not the point. The point is that we got a midget running around, naming weapons and cutting people into little pieces and we got to bag this son of a bitch. Oh yes, one more thing. I don't know why I think this but every time the word apple is mentioned in his presence, he twitches.

"So, any questions?"

"Uh, why apples?" a random cop asked.

"Because this guy doesn't like something as wholesome and nutritious as a sweet, sweet apple, covered in chocolaty goodness and with a nice Chianti."

"But…but doesn't the skin, like, annoy you when it gets stuck in your teeth?" the same officer asked, confused.

Edward Norton narrowed his eyes. "What do you have against apples? Are you the killer? Huh? HUH?"

"Um, I'm six foot four, Mr. Norton."

"Fine, you're off the suspect list. Jesus Christ! I'm working with fucking amateurs!"

The room was silent, every single cop staring at him. Christ, didn't any of these guys watch his movies? He was channeling different roles here! He was fucking Will Graham people! He once curbstomped a guy in one movie because he didn't like him! He even faked a multi-personality that convinced even him! What more did they want from him?

"Alright, that's enough Mr. Norton, I think it's time that you leave," Officer Yates said, standing up from his seat.

"Yeah, yeah I guess so," he said, sounding drained. "Still that was a lot, right?"

"Are you kidding?" Yates barked. "That was the dumbest bit of poppycock I ever heard! Get the hell out of here you fucking poser! Damn it, I knew we should have gotten Anthony Hopkins!"

He was backed up by a resounded "Yeah!" from all the other cops.

"Do you even know who you're dealing with?" Edward Norton demanded.

"All I know is that if you're not out of here in the next five minutes, you're going to be sucking on Shirley Temple," Yates shot back, pulling out his gun, "and Shirley Temple only likes it when she shoots."

Edward Norton stared at him as if he was out of his mind, but that only lasted for four seconds as he was out the door by the fifth second. Yates lowered Shirley Temple down and sighed, turning back to face his men.

"Alright boys, we're going back through all this shit again, but mark my words, we're going to catch this son of a bitch. Make sure that that Rodney the nightstick is ready."


	30. Mind of a Maniac

Author's Note: Now for some answers to questions that have remained unanswered since Chapter 1. Whether you remember those questions, though, remains to be seen. And if you don't remember, well can't help you there unless you decide to read this whole thing from the beginning. One last thing, there is a reference to an obscure slasher movie, one that is most known for its twist ending and not it's not The Sixth Sense. Anyone care to venture a guess what it is? Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, mentions of death

Mind of a Maniac

The Cynis home had been empty when she had arrived, but Charlie was not about to let something like breaking and entering stop her. She pulled out a single bobby pin that she kept in her hair in case she ever found herself needing to pick a lock.

Yeah, she had been in situation where a lock was involved, so what?

Picking the locks to the Cynis house was a snap, and she was a bit surprised and disappointed in there not being a deadbolt. Surprised because getting in was suddenly so much simpler and disappointed that Bain or his family didn't have one. Nevertheless, the fact remained that she was in and after looking around to be sure that no one else was here, she plopped down on the couch and waited.

Her patience was soon rewarded by the door opening but she was a bit surprised to hear two sets of footsteps. She peeked around the couch, taking care not to give herself away. The first person she saw was the very person she had come to see, trenchcoat and all. Then she saw the person behind him and she frowned at the dark clad boy. She had never seen him before but something about him bothered her.

Well, friend or not, it was time she got some fucking answers.

She pulled herself over the couch and perched herself on top of it, not saying anything as she preferred for Bain to get the shit scared out of him for a change.

Her smirk widened as she saw his eyes widen comically upon falling on her. Booya you son of a bitch.

"What the—Charlotte?" Bain practically roared, his look of surprise swiftly becoming a glare.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," she taunted, getting off her perch and closing the distance between them, stopping when she was about three feet from him. "You and me, we need to have a talk."

Bain narrowed his eyes and it was then that she noticed how gaunt he looked. He was paler than usual, his hair was mussed and crazier than the typical bedhead, and she could see bags forming under his eyes. All in all, he looked unhealthy.

Well more than usual you could say.

"So, how are you going to handle this one?" Bain's buddy spoke with a high pitched voice. "Slice and dice her like that last one?"

If anything, that just confirmed a bunch of her suspicions. Taking a good look at this new guy, his red eyes were his most defining feature but other than that, he was more nondescript than anything.

It was then that her nagging mind finally spilled the beans and she figured out just why this guy looked so familiar. He looked exactly like how Kenny described him! That would mean that this was none other than Damien who just so happened to be the Antichrist…and who was hanging out with everybody's favorite sociopath.

Ugh.

"No," Bain's commanding voice spoke, jolting her out of her thoughts. "No, I want to find out what she knows. Go upstairs Damien. I'll handle this one without you."

One second Damien was there and in the next he was gone, completely confirming that he was who Kenny said he was.

"So, Charlotte," Bain said casually. "What brings you to breaking the law now of all times?"

"You're the killer, aren't you?" she demanded accusingly. "You're the one who's been going around killing people all over town and…and you're also the one who killed Kyle!"

Bain stared at her for a second before lifting his hands up and clapping.

"Bravo. Bravo," he deadpanned. "I was beginning to wonder when someone was going to catch on. People are so slow these days."

"Why?" she asked, wincing as her voice cracked without her permission. "Why are you doing this? Why have you gone so far?"

"You know, that's what that bitch Rhiannon asked a while ago," Bain mused as he walked around Charlie and plopped himself down into the armchair that he had taken the last time she had come here. "Of course, she won't be asking that again since I cut her fucking tongue out but hey, what can you do?"

He was just so calm, so cavalier about this, as if killing someone was no big deal. "Why?" she asked again.

"Why not?" Bain countered. "Does it really surprise you that I'm a serial killer now? Is that why you're acting so…so girlish all of a sudden?"

She blinked at that. Oddly enough, she felt no surprise in her body, as if hearing Bain just talk about this was something she had been expecting for a long time. There was no arrogance, no hatred, just Bain and a calm that was beginning to infect even her. She took a seat on the couch, not trusting her legs enough to keep her on her feet.

"How long?" she asked.

Bain blinked at her but a lazy smile crawled onto his face. "Ever since Jackie-boy," he admitted. "He was the first, the first to give me the taste of spilling blood. I couldn't help it either, I felt a rush unlike anything I had ever felt. I needed more, more blood…but at the time, I couldn't muster the guts to do more. That was until Kyle…"

She swallowed. Ah yes, the one question that everyone had been asking. What had happened to Kyle? Could it be that she could be the first to find out the truth at long last?

"What about Kyle?" she asked, prompting him.

Strangely enough, Bain answered her, as if he had been waiting years to get it off his chest. "It was sudden, unplanned. Sloppy even. I was outside, an unusual occurrence yes, and happened to walk by the backyard where Kyle and his 'super best friend' were arguing. I stuck around and waited until Kyle left before following him. I don't know why I did so, I just did.

"He turned around and asked me what the hell did I think I was doing. There was no way I was going to say that I had just broken into the vet clinic and stolen one of their tranquilizer guns, darts included, and was just wandering about." At this point, Bain's eyes were glazed over, as if not seeing the present but the past. Charlie did nothing to break him out of this self-imposed trance.

"I didn't answer him. He called me a creep. I followed him for a few more feet and then he turned on me. That's when he called me short, said 'Look Shorty, either go back to the other six dwarves or grow an inch. It ought to help you grow some balls.' Something snapped, I don't know what but next thing I know, I shot him. At first, I thought I killed him…until I saw the dart sticking out of his neck.

"I dragged him back home and kept him in my closet, drugged up with tranq, for three days, trying to decide what to do. The night of the third day, I went for a drive and found myself at a bar. It was more outside of one and there was a girl, a runaway. She was going to Hollywood she said and asked me for a ride. I don't know why but I agreed and next thing I know she's talking her head off about how she was going to make it big and did I want to hear her sing because she was so good at it and she wouldn't shut the fuck up! It was all about her and how she deserved better than a house with a white picket fence and two point five kids. I broke her nose and the blood was spilling. She called me a psycho and said she would sue so I took out the tranq gun and shot her up.

"I stopped at some woods and dragged her out of the car. She had the gall to get blood in my car, that little bitch! She was coming to and I couldn't take it anymore. I stomped her to death, crushed her face in with the heel of my boot. She screamed, or tried to scream, but there was no one else out there and for the first time in the past three days, I felt peace. I knew what I had to do then.

"I went home and drugged Kyle one more time before getting him in the car and taking him to another section of those woods. I tied him to a tree and waited for him to wake up. He wanted to know why I was doing this and if I let him go, he wouldn't tell a soul about what was happening. I made his suffering short; I slit his throat then stabbed him in the jugular then left him for the wolves."

"And he wasn't the last," Charlie finished for him, captivated by Bain's tale. "You had to kill again, didn't you?"

"I tried to be inventive," Bain shrugged. "Once, I remembered an experiment by Ivan Pavlov and got some meat powder. I then tied another bitch to a tree and sprayed her with it. The wolves tore her apart and I'm sorry to have not stuck around to watch the fun. Little did I know that she was possessed at the time but then again, I wouldn't have Damien as my slave now would I?"

His eyes looked at her and she saw them glowing. He looked so much like a regular guy then that she couldn't believe for a second that he was a monster, just like Jack before him. Unlike Jack, who when he gave her this look sent chills up her spine, Bain's look relaxed her. She didn't at any time feel like she was in danger and she didn't know why.

"Sorry about that," Bain said, toying with Winslow in one hand. "I'm afraid I just unburdened myself on you, told you one too many things in fact. I guess the question now is what do I do with you? Will you become victim eight? Or should I say nineteen?"

She remained sitting there, not in the least intimidated. She was not repulsed in the slightest by what was before her. But why? By all rights, she should be. And from his words earlier, he had already gotten Rhiannon and since Christophe would be nearby, had he also murdered her best friend too? She should be angry, bloodthirsty even, but she was calm.

It was like she knew Bain wouldn't hurt her even though she had no guarantee on that.

"Odd, you're so quiet, so still. I'd thought you'd be halfway down my throat by now," Bain said idly.

She looked him dead in the eyes, not flinching away from what she saw in them. "Would that change anything?" she asked.

Bain blinked at her then chuckled, his amusement deep and rumbling from something deep within that small body of his. "A bit perceptive of you but nevertheless, you are correct. Tell me, what little trick from Sherlock did you use?"

"None," she stated. "You told me all I needed to know in order to find you out. Kinda dumb on your part."

"Was it?" Bain shot back. "How long did it take you then to really figure it out? If I recall correctly, didn't I practically confess to you that I was indeed the Highway 34 serial killer? Yes, and you just blew it off if I'm right. So was it dumb? I don't think so, especially since you made the same mistake that countless others have done."

"Well, the others think you're the killer," she countered. "It's only a matter of time until—"

"But who will believe them?" Bain interrupted. "The only people who matter are the police and as I once heard in a movie, 'it's not what you can prove, it's what you can prove in court.' I have an assortment of alibis set up that will protect me. Second, I'm too young and good looking to be taken seriously. A jury will expect to see an ugly hulk as the defendant, not little ol' me. Last but not least, I have the Antichrist at my beck and call and any evidence that may crop up will be destroyed. I have my bases covered Charlotte but for once, you don't."

"I suspected you," she stated, struggling to get an upper hand on him but she knew that this was a lost cause. "I knew something was up a while ago…but I didn't want to…I just wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt for once."

"How noble of you," Bain replied.

"Someone saw you dump empty acid jugs behind the school," she blurted out.

"Oh? And who might this individual be?"

"I won't talk. You can't make me."

Bain stood up and approached her, moving like a predator about to pounce. He leaned over her, placing his arms on either side of her and leaning on them. "No matter, I'll find out eventually," he said. "You know how long I've wanted to put my hands around your scrawny neck and just squeeze?

"Yet, here I am, with the power of the supernatural at my command and you so pliant, right here and now, and I just can't bring myself to do it. You always were such a challenge. The only person in the whole world who'd stand up to me as well as pick a fight too. Tell me Charlotte, why is it that I can't go on through with my threats? Why?"

Charlie swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest as she traded Bain look for look, her eyes boring into his. No matter how his body changed, she knew that those eyes of his would always remain the same. Once upon a time, the intensity of those eyes haunted her nightmares, ones where her own brother would try to rip her into pieces or stab a curling iron into her, but now they only brought a kind of peace that she found nowhere else.

It was so wrong yet so right at the same time. Her eyes lowered to his lips and she licked hers reflexively, recalling the times before when they had been lip locked. The epiphany then hit her, the very thing that so many had teased and taunted her about and yet she always dismissed readily.

Since the moment they had fought at that bus stop, she had been falling for Bain Cynis and now she was aware that she had hit rock bottom. No more running away from it, she was in love with a fucking psychopath and it didn't bother her one bit as she always thought it would.

In an impulse, she grabbed Bain by the lapels of his trenchcoat and pulled him down, capturing his lips into a heated kiss.

* * *

About an hour or so before the previous events had occurred, Stan and the gang had walked up to Bain's house and found out nobody was home. So, they immediately decided on going to look for Bain himself, though no one thought much of the fact that the town recluse was not at home.

The only person who did pick up on this was Alice but they weren't paying attention to her at the moment.

It was sad to say, but most of them were still wary about the girl who had destroyed their beliefs about her in less than half an hour, and thus none wanted to chance seeing that other side of her again anytime soon.

Jess was still wincing from that Indian burn…

But ultimately they were walking in circles, searching for a needle in a haystack that was deciding to be a little bitch and not appear before them in all its infuriating glory.

At least that's how Stan felt.

It was when they were taking a break of sorts when the other group appeared. Hope was leading their charge, Robyn, Clyde, and Lucky following her lead. Funny, he would have thought Kenny would be with them if only to be able to stare at Hope's rack but apparently not. Probably got lost or something; hopefully he wasn't dead…

"Any luck?" Hope demanded, ignoring how tired and sweaty her group was despite the cold weather.

"Bupkiss," Jess sighed. "We got Alice helping us but we can't find Charlie or her future husband anywhere. Has the Mole and Rhiannon gotten back?"

"Haven't seen them," Hope answered.

Stan turned his attention away from the two conversing girls and looked for something else to occupy him. He noticed that girl, Siryn, was looking at Clyde but she looked sad, especially at how close Clyde was with Lucky. Lucky, though, was glaring at Clyde, as if pissed that he had the gall to drag her out into this shit. Robyn was keeping a look out for someone, probably Kenny, Token was going through his wallet to find some change for a vending machine, and Butters and Alice were all by their lonesome, Alice looking incredibly uncomfortable.

Yeah, he remembered her name, but then you would too if that same person nailed you in the balls. His nuts were still throbbing with phantom pain, man…

He glanced at the nearby store window and jerked in surprise when he saw not his reflection but something else. He blinked but lost the image, his own reflection staring back at him. He…he could have sworn that he had seen Kyle there, bloody and dirty and looking straight at him. Dude, this was like that incident with the car…

He rubbed his temples after making sure no one was looking at him, not wanting them to think that he was losing his mind.

He looked back to the store window again to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him again when he stared, refusing to blink his eyes at what he saw. Once again, he saw not his reflection but that of a bloody Kyle. Wait, was it his imagination or was there something sticking out from his forehead? This was seriously getting fucked up here.

Kyle's lips were moving, as if he was trying to say something but Stan couldn't hear one word from his dead friend, no matter how hard he tried. How much he wanted to hear the other's voice if just one last time. He was desperate for it, yearned for it with a degree of his being that he hadn't known existed and as he raised his hand up to venture to touch the image reflected in the glass, he saw it begin to waver and fade.

"No!" he cried out, heedless of how loud he was but it was too late. Kyle was gone again.

The next thing he knew, he heard a loud sob and as he turned around, he could see Alice running away for some reason and the others giving him incredulous looks.

Okay, had he missed something?


	31. Cliche Slasher Scene

Author's Note: No one got the answer to my question last chapter which was which slasher film was I referencing in ht previous chapter. The answer is "Sleepaway Camp," which isn't the best slasher film out there but it's not the worst, putting it in the decent category. I will say, the twist at the end is incredible, especially if you pay attention to a few things at the beginning, it makes sense. With that out of the way, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence

Cliché Slasher Scene

Bain fixed his coat, his shirt and coat collar just barely covering some recently made bruises on his neck, and ran a hand through mused up hair, his tired eyes blinking. Those same eyes glanced down at Charlotte, a blanket covering her as she slumbered. The corners of his lips twitched upwards but no further than that.

He gripped the black conch shell tightly, summoning Damien's presence while he headed for the front door. Damien was outside waiting for him but he paid the Antichrist no mind as he locked the house up.

"Done fucking around?" Damien asked him wryly. "I swear, the amount of lust back there…"

"Not another word," he stated, adjusting this trenchcoat again to better cover up the telltale bruises. "Shut up and follow me. We have another stop to make."

* * *

Alice wasn't deaf and she certainly wasn't dumb. She knew when people were talking about her and despite all Butters' assurances, she still hadn't felt comfortable around the others.

Hearing Stan Marsh yell "No!" had been the final straw and she had torn herself away from Butters and the others and ran home like a dog with its tail between its legs. You see, Jess and Hope had picked up on her uneasiness and had tried to "play nice" and not try to alienate her. It hadn't really been working until Token came in smoothly and she felt that there was some truth behind it.

But then Token had asked the others if they were happy that she was hanging out with them and thus Stan's resounding negative became all the more hurtful. She could feel the urge to tie that pussy jock down and burn his skin with lit cigarettes and cover him in hot melted wax and—oh God, she couldn't think like that! She just couldn't!

She had reached her home in record time and uncharacteristically slammed the door shut behind her. She searched for her mother, needing a shoulder to cry on but ultimately found a note on the counter that said she was out.

She had never felt so alone in her entire life before.

There was a knock on the door, a loud rapping sound that startled her. She quickly wiped any trace of tears and took in a couple of deep breaths before pasting on a fake smile and heading for the door.

She barely had it open when the person outside shoved it wide open and invaded, a hand gripping her around her throat and pushing her back. A gleaming brown eye and green eye bored into her, as if looking straight into her soul and she struggled as the hand around her throat tightened.

"You know, you have a very annoying way of talking," Bain Cynis said casually as he pressed his large hunting knife against her cheek. "I've been dying to cut that tongue of yours out for such a long time."

She clutched at Bain's arms, trying to relieve some of the pressure Bain was applying to her throat, as she saw movement behind her assailant. She plead at the black clad boy who just stared at her with disinterested red eyes and the longer he just stood there, the more she began to realize that he wasn't going to do anything to help her.

She was on her own.

She thrashed her legs, kicking at Bain who took the hits as if they didn't hurt him at all. Instead, he took the hand holding his knife and used it to grip her shoulder and lifted her off the floor. The next thing she knew, she was flying through the air as she was thrown like a ragdoll into the living room. She cried out as her body slammed onto the floor but she was already scrambling to get away from Bain who was casually walking towards her, playing with his knife.

She had just gotten to the kitchen when she felt a hand grab her by her hair and painfully pulled her up onto her feet. She cried out again from the searing pain in her scalp, her cry cut off as she was spun and then slammed into the kitchen counter. That hand was back on her throat and the arm it was attached to forced her head back against the counter, her body forced to arc against it as Bain pressed his body up against her.

"Yes, that's what I want to see," Bain hissed, his hot breath pelting her face. "Show me that fear, that desperation. Prove to me you aren't as stupid as you sound."

She winced, squeaking as she felt the tip of Bain's knife score her skin, just beside her ear and slowly cut through it, blood seeping out from the shallow wound.

She flung a hand out, her hand searching for something, anything that she could hit this maniac with to get him off her. Something round met her questing fingers and she seized the object, swinging her arm with the thing at Bain's head. Bain, however, released her throat and caught her arm, his eyes glancing at her feeble attempt to get free.

His eyes remained frozen on the object, the maliciousness once held in them gone as if it had never been there. She looked at what Bain was looking at, blinking dumbly at the apple she had clutched in her hand. That's when she heard it, the deep breaths Bain was taking as he stared at the fruit in horror, the image of thousands upon thousands of similar fruits falling down onto him, crushing him…

She felt his hold on her slacken and she took advantage of it, shoving him off her knife and all and watched as he stumbled onto his ass, his eyes never leaving the apple. She threw it at him, not bothering to watch his frightened reaction as he swatted the apple away, preferring instead to grab the bowl of apples she had been working on before Butters and the others had shown up. She threw the apples up into the hair, wincing at the girlish shriek that escaped Bain's mouth as he tried to crawl away from the raining fruit, ultimately covering his head and curling into the fetal position.

Turning her attention to the other boy, she watched him warily as he kept his eyes on Bain, looking thoughtful. Taking in his pale skin, she immediately knew what to do about this one.

She rushed to the refrigerator and threw open the door, opening up one of the drawers and pulling out a clove of garlic. She held the garlic out in front of her, trying to ward the red eyed boy away. Said boy looked at her in contempt.

"You have got to be kidding me. Garlic?" the boy said scornfully. "What the hell do you think I am, a vampire? I—"

The boy stopped speaking suddenly, his nostrils flaring as he took two loud sniffs, his eyes widening. He began sneezing, his cheeks swelling up as his eyes watered, the boy suffering from an allergic reaction.

Then there was an animalistic roar, one loud enough that it startled her. She turned her head to the source and paled when she saw Bain rushing at her, no sign of sanity in his eyes. He was like a raging animal…

She dropped the garlic and used the door of the refrigerator as a shield, trying to shrink in on herself as Bain lashed out with his knife. She slipped around the door and Bain and ran for the front door, which to her surprise was still open. However, Bain was following after her like a stampede of wild buffalo and she could feel his fingers grasping at her hair.

She took a sharp turn and ran up the stairs, not looking back as Bain was unable to stop himself before running into the wall, the pictures hanging on it becoming eschew. He snarled and charged up the stairs after her.

Alice reached her room and tried to lock the door in the hope of buying herself some time but Bain was much faster than he appeared. He rammed the door with his shoulder, crashing into Alice and pushing them both further into her bedroom until their crashed into her vanity.

Her stuff flew everywhere and she could hear the sound of glass breaking but that was the least of her worries as Bain finally had his hands on her though there was not one sign of rationality in him.

Bain picked her off the floor, held her up there for a moment before slamming her down onto the vanity, moving to a side as her weight caused the ruined piece of furniture to lean over and fall with her still on it…now underneath it.

There was a growl and she felt the vanity being lifted off her. Looks like Bain wasn't done with her yet. Instead of laying there as her body was crying out for her to do, Alice launched herself out of the wreckage to the nearest window and had only just gotten it open when she was pulled back by her hair and then thrown right onto her bed.

She rolled out of the way as Bain stabbed his knife down at her, the blade plunging into the mattress. Bain was delayed as he pulled the knife out, a spring stuck on the blade. Alice took the opportunity to grab her bedside lamp and as soon as Bain had freed his knife, smashed it on his head.

Bain stumbled back, clutching at his head. Because of this, he hadn't noticed that he had run into the open window. Momentum had him lean backwards too far and before the boy knew it, he was falling from the second story to land in the thick, shrubby bushes below.

Alice ran to the window and looked out of it to Bain's sprawled body below, her body shuddering with a rush of pleasure at what she had just done. She immediately quashed this sensation and backed away from the window, letting herself fall onto the floor with tears streaming from her eyes.

She was heedless of the sudden noise down below and of the hurried footsteps that tromped up the stairs before she felt arms wrap around her tightly. She struggled, an irrational fear that Bain was back to finish what he had tried to start but then she heard the unmistakable voice of Butters who was cooing into her ear.

Unable to hold back anymore, she crushed her face into Butters and began to sob uncontrollably.

* * *

Charlie yawned as she came to, feeling completely relaxed and sated. Wow, it had been a long time since she had last felt this way and she wasn't opposed to it at all.

Funny how it was Bain of all people who made her feel this way.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in the Cynis living room, laying on the couch with a blanket draped over her but no Bain in sight.

Where the hell was he?

The answer was obvious and you didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. Bain was out and probably killing someone. Yet, she didn't feel as if that was so bad for some reason. Sure she didn't approve of the needless slaughter of the townsfolk but at the same time she couldn't hold it against him.

In a way, that was what Bain really was, a psychotic killing machine with no morals whatsoever.

That still didn't mean she wasn't going out to find his ass and beat him black and blue for just leaving her here alone, mind you.

"Asshole," she grumbled.

* * *

Finding Alice's house open in the middle of broad daylight had been extremely unnerving, so much so the group had charged in recklessly, searching for any sign of Alice or any intruder. They didn't find any intruder but Butters did find Alice in her messed up room where she proceeded to cry into him.

Bit by bit, they had pried the story out of her. Bain had barged in and tried to kill her. It was a fact that was both surprising and not surprising at the same time. However, what was one hundred percent surprising was the fact that she had seen Damien with Bain though he did absolutely nothing.

Why were those evil bastards hanging out with each other, Stan thought to himself as he help straighten out the house. No one had called the police, Hope and Jess not wanting them in with this just yet. Both the girls were confident that they could deal with this mess and had ordered those not taking care of Alice to fix the house back up so Alice wouldn't risk getting grounded.

Stan thought it was stupid and that they should be out looking for Bain's ass so they could kick it long and hard. After getting out of Alice that she had forced Bain out of the window, he, Token, and Clyde and gone out to see if that asshole was still out there. They found the bushes where it was obvious that something had landed in them but there was no sign of anyone.

John Carpenter, eat your heart out.

So both Bain and Damien were out there doing God knows what and they were still here wasting time.

Not wanting to be a slave to the girls who were doing absolutely shit, he leaned against the wall, thinking about going solo and finding the two evil assholes. The more he thought about it, the more he began to believe that perhaps the duo were in cohorts with one another. And since Bain was a crazy fuck, it was typical that he'd want to go on a killing spree.

Yeah, ditching these guys was sounding better and better the more he thought about it. He was positive that he would be able to find the two boys; they both wore black so they would stick out amongst the snow covered land like sore thumbs!

"C'mon Stan!" Token grumbled at him as he passed by. "Move your fat ass and do something!"

He rolled his eyes at that, waiting until the black teen was out of sight before leaning back against the wall and proceeding to do nothing. He looked around at the hallway, taking in how all the pictures were either crooked or knocked off, showing where nails had been hammered in.

Something caught his eye and he snapped his eyes over to it to get a better look and almost shitted himself. It was a small mirror, probably only there to allow the girls of the house to check themselves before leaving but once again it was not his reflection he saw.

It was the bloodied Kyle.

He hurried to the mirror and pressed his hand against the glass, disappointed when that was all he felt. Once again, it looked like Kyle was trying to say something to him and he noticed how his dead friend's brow creased in frustration, just like it used to do whenever he argued with Cartman.

"What the hell is that?" he heard a voice ask behind him but he could already tell that it was Token. "Is that Kyle?"

Good to know he wasn't seeing things after all.

"Christ this is fucked up," Token muttered, rubbing his eyes to make sure that he wasn't just seeing things.

Stan could have told him that it was a waste of energy and why was he so surprised by this freaky shit? It happened on a weekly basis anyway.

But back to the matter at hand, Kyle was trying to tell them something and was becoming increasingly frustrated when the two of them continued to stare. In fact, Stan was beginning to take a real good look at Kyle and began to wonder if those things sticking out of his forehead were tiny horns.

Looking like he had an idea, Kyle's mouth opened wide and he made an exhaling motion, the result being that the mirror fogged up. Stan and Token blinked stupidly at this, wondering how the hell a mirror could fog up when neither of them had breathed on it.

Token suddenly asked, "You think we should say his name three times?"

"He isn't Biggie Smalls, Token," Stan replied slightly annoyed.

Before either of them could continue, something began wiping the fog away, forming lines that began to become letters. Slowly, but surely, the word "Stark's" was written out soon followed by an additional word, though it was smaller in size than Stark's.

"Hurry."

The two teens looked at each other and Stan asked, "What do you think this means?"


	32. Consequences of our Choices

Author's Note: Well, this is it, the second to last chapter. Anything can still happen but the last couple of chapters have been building up to this one scene, one I've been working on since I first started writing this story. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, horror themes, death

Consequences of our Choices

"Care to explain to me why you neglected to mention that you have allergies?"

"Hey, I didn't know I was allergic to garlic," Damien spat, finally started to resemble his old self without the swelling. "It's as much a surprise to me as it is to you."

"You think that's all I care about?" Bain snarled. "Damn it, had those idiots not come when they had, I would have slit that bitch's throat by now! Now we have a live witness and it's only a matter of time before she blabs to the police. That is completely unacceptable!"

"Then why don't you do something about it than complain!" Damien shot back.

"Why don't you shut up so that I can fucking think?" Bain snapped, glaring at the Antichrist. "Remember," he continued, holding the black conch shell out and gripping it tightly, "I have your freedom right here and if I choose I could have you kill yourself. Hell, I could order you to come right back and have you suicide again! Better yet, I could demand that you transfer your powers to me! But I'm not that stupid. Who knows how long you'd be dead and how would someone like me be able to wield powers beyond my comprehension? No, it's better that I watch and study how you use your powers before making them mine and then your usefulness will be at its end."

Bain spun around and began pacing. Damien knew no one would bother them, especially since they were in the back alleys of downtown South Park. People only came here to throw away their trash or were Goths. In fact, right over there you could see the slashed bodies of the four Goth kids, pain and fear replacing their usual nonchalance and apathy. Bain hadn't stopped until each one were crying out in agony and believe it or not, that had taken quite some time.

However, the blood shedding hadn't tempered Bain's temper and the mortal looked like he was on the verge of losing it completely. One wrong move and Bain would destroy the town. It wasn't that Damien cared about the loss of life more than the fact that he stood the best chance of getting his freedom here since some people around here liked sticking their noses in stuff that wasn't their business.

Right now, he was starting to get a bit worried, especially with what Bain was speaking about.

"All's not lost yet," Bain muttered to himself. "All I need to do is silence the bitch and anybody she's told. But then I'll have to ask her how many she did tell. Or maybe I should pull a Richard Speck and slaughter everyone in the vicinity? Would that be too messy?"

And on and on he went. Eventually, Damien became bored and wanted nothing more than to do something. However, as long as Bain held his freedom, there was nothing he could do but stand there and wait until the mortal came to a decision.

He heard the footsteps first but didn't pay any attention to them until they were a few feet away. Glancing to a side, he barely managed to keep up his apathetic looks from revealing any hope he had as there stood the immortal McCormick boy. The blond boy was giving both him and Bain an inquisitive look that held a hint of suspicion and that helped to blossom the hope that was welling up within the Antichrist.

"Is this where you've been?" Kenny asked, his question pointed more at Damien than Bain. "With him?"

Bain's deadly gaze snapped over to the teen and he snarled. "McCormick! What are you—how much have you heard?"

"Look, I'm just here for Damien, dude," Kenny said, his hands up in a warding gesture. "Damien needs to go home now, his father's worried about him."

"What did you hear?" Bain bellowed as he snatched Kenny up by the front of his hoodie, bringing their faces extremely close to one another.

"Jesus Christ, what's gotten into you?" Kenny yelped.

Bain growled and shoved Kenny away, snapping his head towards Damien. "Deal with him. Turn him into a duck-billed platypus or something."

Kenny's eyes widened but Damien just shrugged in helplessness as his eyes glowed. One second, Kenny was perfectly human but in the next second, he was covered in feathers, standing on two legs still, but had grown a duck bill over his mouth.

It was just like last time.

"Couldn't you have thought of something more original?" Damien asked scornfully at Bain.

"Now is not the time," Bain growled through his teeth. He held out the black conch shell to Damien, a dark aura surrounding it as Bain forced his will onto the Antichrist. "I am getting real close to disposing of _you_ so if I were you, I would shut the fuck up and brown nose some, eh?"

Just as the teen put the shell away, he found himself being tackled by a humanoid platypus but he managed to stay up on his feet, struggling to get Kenny off of him. He managed to pull out Winslow and with a jerk, slashed the blade into Kenny's arm, Kenny quacking out a yelp before turning and fleeing the area.

Bain snarled after the platypus but made no move to chase him. He had more important things to worry about and McCormick wouldn't be talking to anybody anytime soon since he was lacking proper communication skills.

Then he noticed that Damien was missing. He frowned, his frustration rising and he began to entertain the thought of actually taking away Damien's powers for himself. He had studied how Damien had used those powers and had determined that will was a major factor. With some practice, he could do whatever he wanted with them and he wouldn't have to lug around a walking, talking piece of meat.

He put his hand in his pocket to take the shell and his frown deepened when he felt nothing. He began to check his other pockets before realization dawned on him.

That little, duck-billed bastard had pinched his shell!

He was the embodiment of rage and released an animalistic snarl as he took off after Kenny.

* * *

Craig was leaning against a mailbox, accompanied only by Tweek who was twitching like usual when the sight of Kenny as a duck-billed platypus, clumsily running, passed by. He just stared after his transformed classmate, not in the least bothered or surprised by it.

There was an angry shout and suddenly, Bain Cynis skidded around the corner, looking like a crazy lunatic, his eyes darting side to side before landing on him and Tweek.

"Where is he?" the maniac snarled.

Craig thumbed in the direction he had last seen Kenny running towards and crossed his arms as Bain ran past, his trenchcoat billowing behind him.

It was all part of the normal routine in South Park as usual.

* * *

It's not easy running when you have webbed feet. Sure Kenny had shoes on but he was so damn poor that they really didn't make that much of a difference. That, and the tail was disrupting his balance and his duck bill was not suited for running as it ran blunt against the air.

It also didn't help that he had a murderous psychopath after him but right now he couldn't see or hear him. At the rate he was going, that would change and he didn't want to lose this shell. He didn't know what it was but all he knew was that it was important somehow.

He was reaching the town's city limits, heading towards Stark's Pond, when he ran into Tori. His cousin looked like she was ready to beat the shit out of him before staring at him in confusion. He tried to speak to her but all that came out was a quack. Goddamn it, why did Damien have to be so thorough with his transformations?

"Kenny, is that you?" he heard Tori ask him. "What happened? Why do you look like a platypus?"

He looked around nervously, the feeling that something dangerous was approaching growing larger and larger by the second. Running further probably wouldn't help and there wasn't any good spots to hide it…

Wait! Tori! She could help! Clumsily, he grabbed at her hands, trying to place the shell in her hands, ignoring her when she asked what he was doing. He looked over his shoulder, cursing in his head when he saw Bain's form rapidly approach them. Turning his cousin around, he shoved her forward, quacking at her.

_Run!_

"Kenny, what are you—" she tried to ask but was interrupted by Bain.

"McCormick!" Bain bellowed, brandishing his knife. "Give me back that shell, you poor piece of shit!"

Kenny quacked at her again, trying to get her to move as Bain lost whatever patience he may have had and charged at him. He spun around and lunged at Bain, catching Bain's knife arm and holding it as far away as he could while using those webbed hands of his, all the while quacking at Tori to run.

Apparently, she managed to get what he wanted to tell her and took off. Kenny felt a surge of relief that was cut off as Bain freed his knife arm and struck him on the side of the head with the handle of his knife.

Grabbing him, Bain searched through his clothes, searching for the shell in vain. Snarling, Bain held him up by the front of his parka and demanded, "What did you do with it? Where—" he cut himself off, probably figuring out what he had done. "Where's she going?" he hissed. "Tell me you little shit! Where?"

Kenny quacked back at him, inwardly satisfied that he couldn't tell Bain what he wanted to know, even if he wanted to.

"That's right, you can't talk," Bain murmured before pressing the blade of his knife against his neck. "Pity."

* * *

Invisible, Damien watched the proceedings, watched how Kenny had giving the black conch shell to that cousin of his and had her take off.

All the while, he kept pleading, saying, "Use it. _Use_ it."

* * *

Something was up, Tori could tell, but whatever it was, Kenny wanted her to run for some reason. Seeing that crazy bastard come after them was enough incentive for her to run for her life and leave Kenny to stall him. Normally she would have stuck around and defended her cousin but something was telling her that she needed to go, far and fast, and as quickly as possible.

She attributed it to Kenny's strange appearance and the way Bain Cynis seemed crazier than usual. She didn't stick around the boy since she hated whatever came out of his mouth, something that was usually insulting and sexist. That and he threw sharp, pointy objects at people who pissed him off for doing small things like pushing him in the lunch line.

Stark's Pond was within her sight as she slowed down, looking around to be sure that she was alone. She then looked at the black shell that Kenny and shoved into her hands; he had probably taken it from Bain and was playing a lethal game of keep away. She debated whether or not to give it back but decided against it. Whatever it was, maybe she could pawn it off for some spending money. There was a nice pair of shoes she had been eyeing at the shoe store…

She heard something rip through the air and the next thing she knew there was a stabbing pain in her back. The shock of whatever it was hitting her caused her to stumble forwards and fall to the ground, the shell slipping out of her hands. Her vision was filled with white, something that changed as she lifted her head up and spotting the black shell a couple feet away from her. All she had to do was stretch out her hand and take it…

A boot slammed down onto her hand, making her cry out in pain. Another slender hand came into view, spidery fingers wrapping around the shell and picking it up. Her gazed remained on the shell as she watched as it was lifted higher and higher into the air until she saw Bain glaring down at her.

"Fucking cunt," he growled down at her, grounding his foot into her hand. "You'd have done better to keep your nose out of this." He reached down, his hand grabbing the object that was pressed into her back and twisted it slightly before pulling it out. She watched dazedly as Bain pulled back with a blood stained knife in hand.

She opened her mouth but could only choke on her words.

"Oh, shut your trap," Bain snapped. "You're but a loose end that I'm happy to say I can tie up real quickly. Give my regards to your cousin when you meet him in Hell!"

She whimpered and shut her eyes as Bain raised his knife higher and higher. Bain's foot lifted from her hand and she waited for the final strike that would put an end to her…and waited…and waited…

She cracked open her eyes and took a peek to see what was going on. Bain hadn't moved far but he had a hand pressed against a cheek and he was glaring angrily at something out of sight. She turned her head just enough to see that help had arrived.

She had never felt more relieved in her life.

* * *

The rock had been unexpected and seeing that a small posse was making their way to him only served to piss him off further. It was all those idiots from school, the brave but stupid ones at least. He knew from the way they were looking at him that they knew what he was and what he was doing.

From there it was obvious that they were going to try and stop him.

"I suppose this is the part where you are all going to kick my ass and be fucking heroes?" he spat out sarcastically.

"No, we're just going to kick your ass," Stan shot back, cracking his knuckles.

"We know you're the one that killed Cartman and the rest," Hope stated, glaring him down.

"Would that also include DeLorne and that Edwards bitch?" he quipped, sneering.

"You mean Rhiannon and Christophe?" Clyde asked, glaring darkly at him.

"Just this morning," he replied casually. "It was before I went for the Lufkin twit."

"You know that you're just digging yourself in deeper," Token pointed out.

"That's not really my concern since I know that none of you will be telling anybody," Bain said smoothly.

"Somebody thinks they have balls," Stan stated. He paused and looked at the others then looked back at Bain. "There's eight of us and only one of you."

"No, all I see is eight," Bain paused, looked down at the McCormick he was practically standing on, "make that nine corpses. And you know what they say: dead men tell no tales."

"Oh yeah? You and what army?" Stan challenged.

"The only one that counts!" Bain sneered, holding out the black conch shell above his head, a dark light emitting from it.

Before him, Damien materialized out of thin air, his back to the psychopath but had Bain seen his face, he would have seen the Antichrist subdued more than anything. But he couldn't and he didn't care if he was subdued or not.

The earth around them shook and fire poured out of a large crack that formed, the fire encircling everyone until it made one large circle. Bain reveled internally at the looks of shock on the other teens and he schooled his facial expression to show his game face.

"Alright Damien, let's show these children just why you don't mess with the Son of Satan, yes?" he said, his will ordering the Antichrist to attack.

Damien's eyes went up and he sighed, vanishing only to reappear in front of Stan, all this taking place in less than two seconds. The next thing Stan knew, he felt something forceful slam into his gut and the air buffeting him until his back met up with the snow-covered ground.

Before any of the other kids could react, Damien was gone again, this time choosing to show up between Hope and Jess and smashing their heads painfully together before vanishing all over again, a resounding crack echoing in the air. Token was his next victim as his sharp fingernails sliced easily through the black teen's clothes and dug into skin, leaving claw marks in his torso. As Token cried out in pain in shock, he was struck by an uppercut and sent flying away, his assailant gone once again.

One by one they were felled and throughout it all, Bain laughed to himself in delight, putting the conch shell away into a pocket while fooling around with his blood stained knife with his other hand. Taking a casual step forward, he stopped when Clyde landed in front of him. Snorting down at the boy who was starting to cry, jagged tears in his left cheek, he lifted a foot back then drove it into Clyde's stomach. Stepping on him, Bain continued his approach towards the rest, not at all repulsed by the violence he saw.

Damien soon came to a stop in his carnage, finally feeling the pressure on him lifting somewhat. He watched in disgust as Bain took advantage of their adversaries' condition, forcing more pain onto their fallen forms.

Approaching Stan, Bain actually crouched down and grabbed the teen by his hair and forced him to look at him. "Winded already?" he taunted. "Come now, you can do better than this."

"Fuck you," Stan managed to growl through clenched teeth.

Bain merely chuckled. "Didn't know you swung that way. But you know what, I guess I'll be generous today and let you in on a little secret." He pulled Stan's head closer and leaned down to his ear to whisper. "The last words Kyle ever said was your name and please."

Bain felt something hard and blunt smash into his face and he cried out in surprise, falling back and tearing some of Stan's hair out, his knife slipping out of his hand. Stan though, looked pissed enough that he probably hadn't felt the sharp sting in his scalp.

He dove at Bain, straddling his hips but before he could take advantage of his position, Bain threw his legs up and kneed Stan in his shoulder blades. All that did was serve to throw Stan forwards and Bain slipped out from under him, stumbling back onto his feet while pulling out the conch shell.

Thanks to a lot of football practice, Stan was already on his feet and rushing the psycho, tackling Bain and throwing them back onto the ground. As Bain's hand struck the snow, the shell slipped through his fingers, bouncing a couple feet away. Simultaneously, the ring of fire that surrounded them instantly died out. Not knowing what the shell was but knowing that it had to be important since Bain was constantly going after it, Stan reached for the shell.

He was pulled back by Bain who had a wild look about him, desperation making him more psychotic looking than usual. Stan twisted his body around and slugged Bain but Bain grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him towards him, delivering a harsh headbutt. He was then shoved to a side as Bain scrambled towards the seashell, getting up onto his feet simultaneously.

Just as he was getting steady, the shell back in his hand, he was shoulder tackled by Token and the shell went flying off again, this time traveling across the field and striking against a rock. Bain looked stricken at it but seemed relieved when nothing further occurred.

However, Token had taken advantage of his distraction and had pinned Bain down, using his heavier weight to keep Bain from slipping away and getting him into a headlock. Bain struggled beneath Token, his hands flailing wildly as he sought to get free, noticing Stan getting back onto his feet from the corner of his eye and making his way to where the conch shell laid.

He bucked up with his hips but to no avail as Token remained on top of him. Then his fingers met up with something solid and it took him a minute to pull the object closer. Recognizing the feel of Winslow's handle, he gripped it tightly and swung his arm back, nailing Token on the side of his head with the butt end of Winslow's handle.

Token's headlock loosened for a second but Bain took advantage of it, squirming out of Token's hold in record time and shoving him away, clumsily getting back onto his feet to try and get that conch shell back.

Both of the teens, though, were beaten to it by someone else, though, and it was the last person either of them had expected.

A hand scooped the shell out of the snow, calluses on the fingers a stark contrast to the smoothness of the shell but what could one expect from tomboy of the year Charlie White? The girl had a blank expression on her face as she gazed at the seashell, idly noticing a few cracks in the shell.

Throughout it all, Damien remained rooted in one spot, not doing anything as he waited for the outcome of this standoff.

"Charlie! All right!" Stan cheered, remembering a girl's name for once.

Charlie looked up, not showing a shred of emotion. Bain's eyes bored into her, as if trying to send some sort of message. He had a hand cupped at his side though his arm did not extend outward.

"Charlotte," he said calmly. "Give me the shell."

"Don't listen to him!" Lucky Day called out from Clyde's side, a large bruise discoloring the side of her face. "He'll just turn on you!"

Bain, however, ignored this. "I had the opportunity to do that earlier but I didn't. And the odds are I won't. Remember about a couple of hours ago?"

"What is he talking about?" Stan demanded, glaring at Bain.

Charlie remained quiet, her eyes fixated on Bain. Her grip on the shell tightened but not hard enough to worsen the crack in it. It was becoming obvious that she was conflicted but what about, only Bain seemed to know. Whatever it was, he was using it to his advantage and that only made Stan more curious as to what that seashell was.

It had to definitely be important somehow and he was going to take a leap of faith on this one but he believed that shell had something to do with Damien.

Could it be that was how he was controlling Damien then? With the way Damien began kicking their asses for no reason and only after Bain had taken that shell out, it was very suspect.

"Throw it to me!" he called out, positioning his hands in a way to better catch it. "C'mon Charlie, chuck it at me!"

"Charlotte," Bain stated, holding one hand out. "Give it to me."

Watching this, Damien bit his lip, hoping that the mortal girl had some sense in her head.

Charlie's eyes moved from Stan and the others to Bain and back to Stan. Her eyes soon hardened as all indecision left her and she tossed the shell up into the air, her lips voicelessly mouthing a single word.

Stan couldn't tell what it was as his attention was captured by the shell the flipping through the air and began to descend back to the earth. He raised his hands up to catch it but only then realized that something about it was off. It was much too high for him and it was going past him…and into Bain's hands.

And it was only then that he figured out what Charlie had mouthed.

_Sorry_.

Well, shit.

* * *

Bain chuckled as his control over the Antichrist was restored. No more games, it was time to bring this to an end. He spun on his heel so that he had a better view at his living targets.

"Looks like your luck just ran out," he taunted as a black aura encompassed him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Damien's trembling form and his smirk widened as he surged forward, eking out as much of Damien's power as he could without overdoing it.

It was time to take the next step.

"I spy with my little eye something dead and in red," he leered as he raised the black conch shell high into the air, a black volt of Damien's power blasting out of it and straight towards where Clyde and his southern belle of a girlfriend were. Two for the price of one, you know.

The blast detonated but he was unprepared for the backlash, raising an arm to cover his face and straining his legs so that he wasn't thrown back onto his ass. As soon as the tumult ended, he lowered his arm and frowned.

Damn it, he hadn't gotten the couple but instead, someone had jumped in front of them and had taken the blast head on. The person's charred remains made it hard to identify whoever it was but looking at the others and by process of elimination, he determined that it had been the Lupus girl.

Heh, she sacrificed herself to save the crybaby's life, huh? Well, too bad for her he could still kill them. All it meant was a few minutes delay of their demise is all.

He ignored the cries of dismay from the Day bitch and Clyde's vacant stare as he looked at Siryn Lupus' remains in horror, instead preferring to intensify the aura around him so that Stan Marsh couldn't tackle him again. Taking a headcount and confirming that the Skidmore and Tompson bitches were still out, Clyde and Day were traumatized, the O'Neil cunt at the side of McCormick's cousin and Stan and Token still watching him, he made a plan of attack in his mind.

No one was going to be sneaking up on him this time and he trusted that Charlotte wouldn't move to stop him. They had a new understanding of one another after all.

"This has all been entertaining and all," he sneered, "but right now it's getting boring. Damien belongs to me and there's nothing any of you can do to change that. So please, be good little boys and girls and die already."

He ignored anything they might have said as he siphoned off more of Damien's power into the shell. He was going to fry these maggots once and for all and then continue on his unstoppable killing spree unhindered.

As power roared about him, he failed to notice Damien, who by now was crouching on the ground, his powers being ripped from him taking their toll. However, there was a plus to this; with his attention focused on taking his powers, Bain's control over him lessened, enough that he could summon his own powers at his own choice. The Antichrist glared at him unseen, gathering whatever shreds of his power he had left and forming a small fireball in one hand.

He almost felt powerless but he bore under the strain as he eyed the shell that had been the bane of his existence and with a shrieking cry, he threw the ball of fire straight at it.

Hearing the high pitched scream, Bain paused and glanced to see where the sound was coming from and saw too late the fireball that ripped through the aura around him and stuck his hand, the conch shell included.

There was an explosion, he was positive of it, yet he couldn't see anything due to all the white that was suddenly in his face. Wait…

Bain lifted his head up, disoriented and wondering what the hell he was doing on the ground when he caught sight of the pieces of the black conch shell. A sense of dread balled up in his gut and he crawled on his arms towards the shattered shell, snatch up as many pieces as he could and hastily trying to put them back together.

"No," he said to himself as the pieces just would stay together. "No!"

His horror immediately turned into terror as the shell pieces were replaced with the remains of an apple, the sociopath crying out as he threw it away and scrambled to get away. He froze in his tracks as he saw an endless row of apples blocking his way, the red fruit almost alive in the way they seemed to taunt him.

By now his vision should have turned red and the mindlessness of a killing machine ought to have taken over but he was quickly realizing that his typical escape from that which he feared wasn't going to be happening this time.

"D-D-Damien," he stuttered, his eyes snapping around wildly for an escape, overlooking the others who had been flattened to the ground by the previous explosion. "Th-th-th-th-this…th-this isn't…it doesn't have to be this way! We can w-w-work s-something out! R-r-r-r-really!"

Damien, however, was nowhere to be found and the sky had taken a dark overcast, further intensifying Bain's terror as well as his fears of what was about to happen. A sharp crack from the ground resulted in a decayed hand bursting out. Bain cried out fearfully as he saw zombie imitations of all his recent victims pull themselves out of the earth, each one sporting injuries identical to the ones he had inflicted.

He could see Cartman, gutted and bloodless shambling over to him from in front, while from a side was a faceless Wendy, her skull and eyes beaming down on his wickedly. Others emerging from the ground included one Katie Blaire, the long cuts on her arms festering with infection and gangrene, Michael Jeeves naked and dirtied with blood and pus oozing from his various wounds, Rhiannon Edwards' tortured form that had bones jutting from various places and was hand in hand with a charred and broken Christophe DeLorne.

Behind them all stood a demonic looking Kyle whose now red eyes were glowing feverishly, fangs peeking out of his mouth. However, these demons of the killer's past weren't the most terrifying of all.

It was the apples wedged in their mouths that tore the inhuman scream of horror out of him.

"DAMIEN!" he shrieked. "We can talk this out! Just—a game! Let's play one more game!" Bain screamed out, backing away in fear from his victims, stopping only when he ran into something solid. He slowly turned his head and came face to face with Damien who looked so much more fuller and powerful than he had before, his eyes glowing red. Bain fell to his knees, clutching at Damien's black shirt and begged, "Let's play a game one more time! Please!"

Damien merely smirked down at him and grabbed his chin harshly, holding his head still as he leant down. Then, unexpectedly, Damien sealed their lips together in a twisted kiss, Bain's eyes widening to an extreme size and tearing away, spitting out bloodied apple slices out of his mouth.

By now, his victims had reached him and were latching onto him as he screamed, trying to pry himself away in vain. He could see their dead, accusing eyes and the apples…the apples! No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't get away.

Their names, all of them, Kyle Broflovski, Katie Blaire, Michael Jeeves, Eric Cartman, Wendy Testaburger, Bebe Stevens, Christophe DeLorne, Rhiannon Edwards, Siryn Lupus, Damien, ran through his head at lightning speed, the smell of fire and brimstone sweltering around him as he and the crowd slowly began to sink into the earth.

The spectators watched as a screaming Bain Cynis was dragged down into the depths of Hell, everything demonic and hellish being sucked in and concluding with a loud thunderclap and plume of volcanic smoke.

Slowly, the hearing of the boys and girls of South Park returned to them and they all bore witness to a single stone, one of volcanic origin, that jutted out from the earth and the glowing writing that was dying out, leaving the crudely carved words:

Bain Cynis

R.I.P.


	33. Epilogue

Author's Note: Final chapter, the ending of which is one I've been looking forward to like the previous chapter. Usually, this is the part where I thank constant reviewers, like ShadowMajin and DefectCriminal, for reviewing every, if not a majority, of the chapters posted. Of course, don't think I didn't notice that interest petered out about halfway through this. It's no biggie, just tells me to write fewer chapters and increase the word count if I want to keep it long. Anyway, I'll be applying that logic to a future story that I'm working on so keep your eyes out.

Also, before I forget, if you decide to review, don't say sorry about not doing it sooner. It's not that I don't believe you, because I do believe in your sincerity, it's just I don't want to hear about it. Rather, I'd prefer if you just told me what you liked about Dance of the Devils, what you didn't like, what I can improve on and what I don't. That kind of stuff.

And not for the last time, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Epilogue

Tori growled in frustration, the grocery bag of cantaloupes falling off the kitchen counter and the large pieces of fruit rolling out chaotically. Normally this would just be a mild irritation to most folks, but Tori was no longer most folks.

It was a lingering reminded of what had happened that day, ten years ago, a scar written into her skin that would never go away. Bain's knife had struck some nerves when it had been stabbed into her and she now had an awkward time moving the right side of her body, specifically her arm. That and there would always be the dull throb that would occur every time she bent down.

It was just one more thing she had to deal with, seeing as how she had never left this redneck mountain town though she was living in a better apartment than the McCormick house.

Fortunately, at that time, her guardian angel as it were came in.

"Butterfingers," Kenny teased as he bent down to clean up the unintended mess. Sure it wasn't a mess like milk spilling or a jar of jelly smashing onto the floor, especially since her cousin had to go under the table to get an errant cantaloupe, but it was still a mess in Tori's mind.

Just like her back, now.

Instead of blowing up and yelling like she used to do, she sighed and leaned gingerly against the kitchen counter. When she had first been told of the damage, she had thrown a fit and had even gone as far as starving herself to death, not wanting to live like a pseudo-cripple for the rest of her life.

It was Kenny who forcefully pulled her off that self-destructive path, who helped to provide them both with this hovel of an apartment that was better than what her Uncle Stuart McCormick could ever provide but she was imprisoned in this place as most places outside of Wall Mart wouldn't hire her. There was no fucking way she was going to be a fucking greeter but a high school diploma could only get you so far and she hadn't been able to go to or afford college.

Thus she was a "happy" homemaker just without being married.

"It's tough, isn't it?" Kenny sighed as he took his place next to her. "I'm sorry I got you involved with that shit."

"I would have done it anyway," she said quietly. "It's just…I wish things had turned out differently. That I could walk and not look like a fucking retard, be one of those big time business women and making six figure salaries. It's just not fair…"

"I know," Kenny replied, placing his hands on her shoulders and massaging them.

"Enough about me," she said, her voice slightly cracking. "How was your day? Asked Robyn out yet?"

"Got a date this weekend," Kenny admitted, looking sheepish. "Think you can hold down the fort without me?"

"Of course I can!" she scoffed. "You go out and have fun." At least one of us should be happy went unsaid by her but she had a feeling that Kenny picked up on it anyway. She felt him squeeze her shoulder and she placed a hand over his.

The cantaloupes were the furthest thing on her mind.

* * *

There was nothing like the sensation of ice cold beer flowing down your throat after a long day's work.

Stan could see now why his father was an alcoholic but he knew the difference between understanding and knowing. It was one thing to know his father was an alcoholic and another to know why he was an alcoholic. It was a slippery slope once you got started and there was no way in hell he was going to become his father's double.

But it was real tempting, seeing as how he was an adult now and still living in this piece of shit town. And no, he wasn't married or had any children but he would admit that his bachelorhood sucked ass big time.

He hadn't been quick like Craig and Clyde and got married as soon as they got out of high school. It was really no big surprise to him that Craig and Clyde got hitched with Jess Skidmore and Lucky Day respectively. Thus right now he was the odd man out of a trio.

Kenny wasn't here because he was taking care of his cousin, others like Token had managed to get out of South Park while others seemed to drop off the face of the planet, like Hope Tompson did. Last he heard about her, she was hitchhiking her way up to Canada or something. There were also Butters and Alice but he hadn't hung around those two in a long time. He thought they had gotten hitched but he could be wrong on that one.

A good amount of others, needless to say, were dead. Many others Stan had just lost track of completely.

The one other exception was Kyra, the girl who had stuck around him since after the events of ten years ago. There were times he was positive that she was trying to flirt with him but it wasn't as if he wasn't interested. He had been tempted to say fuck it and screw her long and hard into a mattress but for some reason or another, couldn't make that one crucial step that would give him a bed partner for the night.

By now he had figured out she liked him, as did a good amount of other girls from school, and she had been surprised when he had told her he hadn't gotten back together with Wendy since Kyle was kidnapped and killed by Bain. Looked like a lot of people were surprised by that since, as it turned out, Wendy had been spreading rumors around that she was going to get back together with him. Something that was prematurely terminated not only by Stan when he told her he needed to think about it but also by Bain's interference.

But thinking about that wasn't going to be changing the fact that he was only a high school coach for South Park High and in a dead end job from which he would never escape from all because his father had spent all his money for college on one night of binge drinking.

It sucked but what could he do about it? It wasn't like he had been accepted anywhere in the first place.

"Hey Marsh, wake up," he heard Craig throw at him, an ice cube smacking him on the cheek. "I asked you a fucking question, you dumbass."

"Fuck you Craig," he muttered, going back to nursing his beer.

"Your car is still in my garage," Craig reminded him. "Don't tempt me to accidentally cut your break lines."

"And kill Kenny again," he retorted. "You're only lucky you got off with a fine from that one."

"Hey, that time it really was an accident," Craig defended.

"Yeah," Clyde agreed. Out of all of them, Clyde probably had the best job as the town's doctor though whether it was a good thing or not since he was last in his graduating class and had more malpractice lawsuits filed against him in his first year than Hell's Pass had in twenty years. How many times had he "almost" been run out of business again? Was the last time the fifth or the sixth?

"Anyway," Craig said, "you hear about that Charlie White chick? I heard she was coming out with her first book or some shit."

"Oh really? What's it about?" he asked idly.

"The murders," Craig shrugged. "She was in town a few months ago trying to get some interviews from the police and us. I know I didn't give her the time of day though I think Lucky did."

"Oh yeah, wasn't that where we formed that mob with the pitchforks and torches?" Stan asked, a vague recollection of something like that happening.

"No, it was the threatening in the bar and telling her we don't take kindly to authors in these parts," Clyde answered. "The pitchforks and torches were for that reinvention of Barney the Dinosaur."

All three shuddered at the memory of the purple monster from their childhoods.

"So…you think you can take the Cows all the way this year Marsh or are you going to flounder?" Craig asked after a long awkward pause.

"Fuck you Craig," Stan repeated again before ordering another beer.

* * *

Well, this was it. Charlie had never felt so nervous before but this was her first book that got published, ever. With a little irony, it was the story of Bain's rampage with just a few minor edits, such as the removal of Damien the Antichrist and Bain getting dragged down to Hell and all.

No one would really believe that, even if it did take place in South Park.

Of course, if she wanted to market this as a true crime novel, she had to go back to South Park where a few people were a bit bitter over her choice during that confrontation with Bain. They used the timeless tradition of rednecks being illiterate as an excuse to run her out of town but not before she got what she needed first.

It wasn't too much and she explained that in the book and that was enough for the publishers to give it the go ahead. And here she was, marketing her first book and signing a copy at a large chain of bookstores as part of an advertising scheme. She had no doubt that she would hardly get anyone wanting her signature but there were always those die hard true crime aficionados who'd buy her book and get her to sign it regardless of who she was.

Do you think _Dance of the Devil_ was a bit over the top? Bain probably would have loved the title.

For three hours, she sat there with a fake welcoming smile plastered on her face and only got about seven people come up, five of which had her sign their copies and not even stay to chat with her about it. It was boring, tedious, and there was a moment she really needed to go to the bathroom and only just barely made it.

All in all, it barely reached boring as hell though it got close.

Once three hours had passed, she took the liberty to take a small break, exiling herself to the bookstore's stockroom, snatching up the purse that she had grown accustomed to carrying around.

It had been because of this purse of all things that the people back in South Park hadn't recognized her for a week.

Thankful that there was air conditioning in the storeroom, she sighed as she leaned against a shelf of stored books that had yet to be placed on the shelves. God, she had never been so bored in her life.

It took her a bit to pick up on it, but she heard a strange sound coming from deep within the storeroom. Curious, she sought out the source, peeking around several shelves before discovering two of the bookstore's employees, a guy and a girl, making out and in no way being as discreet as they should have been.

She pulled back, her blood boiling in bitterness and loathing and she stuck her hand into the purse that she carried. To be honest, she didn't really need it; a good pair of jeans could carry everything that was in there in the pockets and still have room for more. No, it was mainly for the large, sheathed, concealed object that she didn't want others catching sight of.

It had become a comfort, wrapping her fingers around that handle, adjusting to the weight instantly before pulling it out and sliding the sheath off. She had picked it up out of the snow sometime after Bain had been dragged down to Hell and had kept it a secret ever since.

It was all she had left of him.

Winslow.

The pale, synthetic light of the storeroom gleamed dully off the sharpened blade and she admired it for a second, eerily similar to the way Bain used to. She peeked around the shelf again, glaring at the couple who were experiencing and expressing a happiness that she would never have.

After all, she had fallen in love with Bain Cynis. It had taken only after Bain's death to figure that out but it was too late.

No matter, she would make sure that he wouldn't be lonely in that fiery pit for long. She'd carve out a legacy of murder and mayhem, all in his name, burn his memory in the public's collective conscious for all time.

And for the first time in years, Winslow tasted blood once more.

* * *

Author's Note: What? Expected a happy ending? I'm more for bittersweet though this does have a touch of ominous. Besides, happy endings get boring after a while.


End file.
